FRKDKKir  R.  KlKKLAXD 


ft 


Henry  St.  John,  Gentleman, 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859,  by 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS. 
In  the  Clerks  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


I  infcribed   a  former  work 

To  one 

Whofe  life  was  moulded 
To  the  perfeft  form  of  Honor ; 

A  noble  fpirit, 

Brave  and  faithful  as  Bayard, 
Gentle  and  tender  as  Sir  Philip  Sydney : 

"  The  model,"  faid  an  old  aflbciate, 
"Of  lofty  courtely,  and  chivalry,  and  generofity ;"- 

Who,  dying   tranquilly, 

"Without  an  enemy,"  another  fays, 

"On  the  broad  bofom  of  this  fpacious   Earth," 

Has  left  to  his  children  the  ineftimable  name 

And  great  example 
Of  a  Chriftian  Gentleman. 


I  offer  thefe  pages, 
With  a  cordial  brother's-greeting, 

To  two  perfons 
Who  were  taught  by  him 

The  fcorn  of  falfehood 
And    the   love    of  honor : 

To 

Henry  Pendleton  Cooke,  and 
Edward  St.  George  Cooke; 

Health — Happiness  I 


PROLOGUE. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OP  THE  ORIGINAL  MANUSCRIPT. 


"  IN  the  golden  sunshine  of  the  budding  spring,  on  the  porch  of  my 
old  country  house,  I  sit  and  gaze  at  the  waving  foliage,  and  think 
'tis  not  time  lost  to  fall  into  a  reverie,  as  it  were  into  a  dream,  of 
other  days,  and  the  noble  figures  which  illustrated  and  adorned  them. 

"  The  sun  of  May  is  shining  on  the  flowery  lawn,  where  the  yellow 
buttercups  and  velvet  grass  are  stirred  by  the  warm  south  wind;  the 
belt  of  forest  makes  a  rich  green  background  to  the  fields  and  streams ; 
and  bright  like  the  flowers,  dancing  like  the  brook,  my  little  girl,  with 
eyes  '  as  azure  as  the  heavens,'  and  sunny  hair,  chases  the  earliest 
butterflies  across  the  sward,  and  with  her  presence  adds  the  finishing 
grace  to  the  mellow  landscape  of  spring. 

"  So  I  sit,  and  smile,  and  dream;  then  I  think,  with  a  sigh,  that  a 
few  decades  may  change,  and  even  wholly  obliterate,  this  rural  beauty, 
this  smiling  ease  and  repose.  Little  Kate  may  be  called  to  heaven, 
or  out  into  the  wide,  wide  world — my  form  will  assuredly  be  laid  in 
earth — the  old  homestead  probably  will  pass  from  my  race — and  those 
who  knew  and  loved  us,  know  us  no  more.  Why  not  ?  Is  it  not, 
after  all,  the  common  story  ?  Where  are  now  all  those  brilliant  scenes 
and  figures  of  the  elder  Virginia,  glimmering  faintly  through  the  mists 
of  scarce  fourscore  years  ?  Where  are  the  men  and  manners  of  the 
days  of  the  Revolution,  only  hinted  at  obscurely  in  what  the  world 
calls  histories  ?  Do  they  exist  for  us  to-day,  except  as  names  and 
traditions  ?  And  what  does  the  present  generation  know  of  them  ? 

"  Alas  for  the  historians !     They  tell  us  many  things,  but  so  little ! 


Vlll  PROLOGUE. 

They  relate,  with  much  dignity,  how  the  battle  was  fought  and  the 
treaty  made — they  tell  us  the  number  of  the  combatants,  and  spread 
every  protocol  upon  the  page.  But  the  student  of  the  past  asks  for 
more.  Of  the  historian  we  ask  a  picture  of  the  elder  day — portraits 
of  the  Virginian  and  his  household.  "We  would  know  the  peculiari 
ties  of  character  and  manner  which  marked  a  great  race — the  wor 
thies  of  Virginia.  "We  would  live  again,  for  a  time,  beneath  those 
fair  or  storm-convulsed  skies  of  'Old  Virginia;'  we  would  take  the 
hand  of  the  honest  old  planter ;  we  would  go  into  his  library,  and 
look  over  his  shoulder  as  he  reads  the  new  Act  in  the  '  Virginia  Ga 
zette,'  and  would  not  disdain  to  scan  critically  the  powdered  curls 
and  looped-back  gowns,  the  flounces,  and  furbelows,  and  fancies  of 
the  dames. 

"  We  would  see  the  rude  Old-Field  School  on  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
and  listen  to  the  words,  and  watch  the  bright  faces  of  those  children 
who  will  make  hardy  patriots  and  devoted  women.  We  would  ac 
company,  in  the  fine  chariot,  Myrtilla,  or  Florella,  as  she  goes  to  the 
assembly,  decked  in  satins,  and  laces,  and  towers  of  curls ;  and  see  Da 
mon,  or  Strephon,  dance  the  minuet  opposite  to  her,  with  his  cocked  hat 
pressed  upon  his  heart.  We  would  accompany  the  squire  in  his  coach 
and  four,  to  the  county  court,  where  he  sits  in  awful  state,  with  his 
brother  justices  of  the  peace ;  or  to  church,  where  the  good  parson 
deli vers  the  evangel  of  grace,  from  the  tub-shaped  pulpit  We  would 
hear  the  buzz  of  the  crowd  on  the  race  course,  or  at  the  cockfight, 
and  listen  to  their  discussions  of  the  doings  of  Parliament,  and  the 
speed  of  the  favorite  racer.  We  would  look  in  at  the  window  of  the 
old  Ealeigh  Tavern,  and  read  what  the  company  assembled  in  the 
Apollo  Eoom  are  doing  in  spite  of  his  Excellency  and  his  stern  '  You 
are  accordingly  dissolved !'  In  a  word,  we  would  look  again  on  that 
vigorous  race,  that  singular  society ;  see  the  tragedy  and  the  comedy 
— hear  the  sighs  and  the  laughter.  We  would  see  the  lofty  forms 
defile  before  us,  slowly,  in  a  long,  august  line ;  we  would  hear  the  old 
voices,  weigh  every  accent ;  and  then  we  should  know  what  the  past 
was  really — we  should  seize  on  the  spirit  of  the  Revolution. 

"  That  we  should  know  what  that  Revolution  really  was,  is  a  mat- 


PROLOGUE.  IX 

ter  of  the  first  importance  to  ourselves  and  our  descendants.  That 
we  should  trace  its  steps,  divine  its  causes,  and  see  the  effect  produced 
logically — this  is  what  we  ask  the  histories  to  assist  us  in.  We  ask 
it  in  vain.  The  historians  have  bloody  minds  and  delight  in  carnage  ; 
or  legal  minds,  and  wander  in  the  flowery  fields  of  legislative  enact 
ments.  In  vain  does  the  student  rebel  and  turn  away ;  he  is  told 
that  what  he  wishes  is  beneath  the  dignity  of  history,  and  thus  has 
it  happened  that  we  have  nothing  but  the  skeleton,  when  we  want 
the  warm  blood,  the  flushed  brows,  and  the  flashing  eyes. 

"  I  hear  Kate  laughing  as  I  ponder  so;  and  my  spleen  against  the 
historians,  as  I  listen  to  that  cheerful  music,  disappears.  My  Kate 
scatters  light,  and  love,  and  goodness  wherever  she  goes,  and  her 
laughter  is  a  purer  music  than  the  harp  of  jEolus.  It  tells  me  now 
that  'tis  not  my  place  to  speak  ill  of  the  historians — that,  after  all,  't  is 
a  hard  task  I  would  impose  upon  them — a  heavy  burden  I  would 
place  upon  their  shoulders.  To  revive  a  whole  period,  or  many 
periods,  with  all  their  peculiarities  of  life  and  thought  and  manners — 
to  depict  those  joys  and  griefs,  whose  causes  often  shift  and  change 
in  the  long  current  of  our  human  story — to  live  in  the  life,  rejoice 
with  the  joy,  and  sympathize  with  the  sorrow  of  a  vanished  race — thus 
bringing  from  the  remote  and  misty  shadow  land,  the  actual  figures, 
and  reconstructing,  from  the  shattered  fragments,  the  statue,  the 
moulding,  and  the  inscription ; — this  is  no  child's  play,  rather  a  scourg 
ing  toil,  and  if  no  one  has  accomplished  it,  we  can  scarcely  com 
plain. 

"  So  I  make  my  peace  again  with  the  historians,  and  looking  forth 
upon  the  sunlit  fields,  return  in  thought  to  an  earlier  epoch,  remem 
bering,  with  smiles,  a  boy  whom  I  knew  once  on  a  time ;  a  boy  who 
said  that  he  would  one  day  fill  the  immense  canvas  with  the  throng 
ing  figures,  and  paint  the  great  future  of  Virginia.  He  was  young 
and  ardent ;  he  loved  the  noble  past  of  his  native  land,  That  past 
stretched  far  away  before  him,  like  some  land  of  Faery,  all  sunlight, 
beauty  and  romance.  The  breath  of  a  million  flowers  came  on  the 
winds,  for  ever  blowing  from  the  sea,  and  fanning  tranquilly  his  boy 
ish  forehead.  The  green  fields  were  ever  bathed  in  golden  dawns, 

1* 


X  PROLOGUE. 

or  purple  sunsets  dying  on  the  vast  horizon ,  or  the  great  blue  canopy 
drooped  over  all  like  a  dream.  The  stately  rivers  flowed  through 
bright  champaigns,  mirroring  those  skies  with  all  their  snowy  cloud 
ships ;  and  the  great  forests  waving  their  long  plumes  in  the  Atlantic 
breezes,  ever  resounded  musical  and  joyous  secrets. 

"  This  was  the  land  in  which  had  gone  on — brave  and  hearty,  illus 
trated  by  a  thousand  scenes  as  picturesque  as  they  were  significant — 
that  strange,  old,  rude,  poetical,  colonial  life. 

"  The  great  mountains,  too,  stretched  mighty  arms  toward  the  boy, 
and  the  immense  belts  of  pines,  crowding  the  steep  precipices  of  the 
Alleghanies,  spoke,  Hke  their  lowland  brethren,  of  the  things  of  the 
past.  Here,  in  these  solitary  fastnesses,  the  borderer  had  struggled, 
breast  to  breast,  with  the  savage ;  yonder,  at  the  foot  of  that  tree, 
the  girl  or  the  child  was  tomahawked,  and  left  to  bleed  and  die ; 
those  houses  dotting  the  fair  valley,  from  whose  embowering  foliage 
curl  wreaths  of  snowy  smoke,  in  the  lazy  atmosphere,  were  every 
one  the  scene  of  a  tragedy  or  a  comedy ;  they  heard  the  broken  sob 
of  the  weeping  mother,  or  the  wild  and  uproarious  revelry  of  the 
borderers ;  their  old  walls  are  battered  with  balls,  and  the  stockades 
show  where  the  torch  of  the  Indian  was  applied  in  the  darkness,  but 
quenched  in  his  heart's  blood  by  the  rifle  ball  of  the  mountaineer. 
From  the  mouth  of  the  Potomac  to  its  source  in  the  Alleghanies,  along 
the  banks  of  the  beautiful  Shenandoah,  the  '  Daughter  of  the  Stars, 
there  was  scarcely  a  spot  which  did  not  recall  a  tradition,  a  legend, 
or  a  history.  All  this  did  the  youth  I  am  thinking  of  dwell  upon, 
and — well,  well,  here  I  am  dreaming !  It  was  only  his  folly,  and  I 
must  think  of  my  work. 

"I  design  composing  a  work  of  the  revolutionary  period,  based 
on  family  archives.  I  shall  begin  with  May  of  the  year  74,  when 
the  trees  commenced  to  bud,  and  the  flowers  to  bloom,  as  if  the 
thunder  and  lightning  were  not  brooding  upon  the  horizon,  and  the 
soil  beginning  to  tremble.  It  was  not  long  before  the  chasm  yawned 
—indeed,  a  few  months  threw  between  the  old  days  and  the  new,  an 
impassable  gulf.  Upon  one  side  of  that  gulf,  now  looking  back,  we 
discern  the  colonial  regime  of  ease  and  tranquillity — the  slow  rolling 


PROLOGUE.  XI 

coach,  the  aristocratic  dignity,  the  machinery  of  class,  and  courtly 
ceremony.  On  the  other  side,  the  mortal  struggle  of  the  new  era,  the 
leveling  republicanism,  born  of  a  common  danger — the  'gentry,'  and 
the  '  commoners,'  in  leather  harness,  fighting  side  by  side  under  their 
common  father,  and  constructing  a  new  world,  'mid  storm  and  tem 
pest,  on  the  bloody  battle-fields  of  the  Eevolution. 

"  My  work  will  aim  to  draw  a  few  pictures  of  this  period  of.  transi 
tion,  and  I  have  ample  material.  When  my  dear  and  honored  father 
died,  he  left  me  an  old  iron-bound  trunk  full  of  family  letters,  and  in 
these  venerable  papers  I  find  many  histories.  To-day  it  shall  be  the 
life  of  Henry  St.  John,  Esquire,  of  '  Flower  of  Hundreds,'  in  Prince 
George,  a  gentleman  connected  with  our  house.  Of  Mr.  St.  John  I 
have  a  miniature  in  the  stiff  old  style,  and  very  many  letters  in  his 
own  handwriting,  which  is  rapid  and  careless,  with  a  number  ad 
dressed  to  him  by  others.  The  miniature  presents  the  young  man 
vividly  to  the  eyes,  with  his  olive  cheeks,  black  hair,  and  clear,  fixed 
look ;  the  letters  embrace  much  of  the  history  of  his  early  manhood. 
They  allude  to  and  describe,  also,  some  public  events  which  occurred 
at  the  period  in  Virginia,  and  speak  of  more  than  one  eminent  name, 
now  the  property  of  history. 

"  I  have  read  these  letters  again  and  again ;  I  often  linger  over 
then-  pages  with  profound  interest, — with  smiles,  or  frowns,  or  deep 
feeling. 

"  Yellow  letters ! — I  say — which  share  with  the  moth-eaten  doublets 
and  rusty  old  broad-swords,  the  honor  of  reviving  the  past  1  Cracked 
miniature !  in  whose  fading  and  age-dimmed  outlines  a  face  of  other 
days  shines  so  clearly  1  Old  letters,  old  miniatures,  old  costumes,  old 
swords,  old  ghostly  reminiscences  of  ghostly  'cocked  hats  I'  the  his 
torian  salutes  you  with  a  low  and  respectful  bow,  for  you  speak  of 
the  Kevolution.  Yellow  laces,  too,  in  the  chests  up  stairs — old  pearls, 
and  diamonds,  breastpins  and  rings — he  salutes  you,  too,  for  you 
speak  of  the  fair  dames,  and  to  these  he  bows  with  his  whole  heart 

"  In  the  beautiful  May  morning  of  the  new  century,  he  will  write 
of  you,  with  the  old  days  shining  in  his  memory,  as  it  were,  and  the 
old  faces  looking  down  from  the  wainscoted  walls. 


Xll  FBOLOGUE. 

"  They  have  diamonds  in  their  ears,  and  pearls  in  their  hair ;  they 
are  covered  with  lace  and  embroidery, — the  fair  maidens  and  dames. 
The  cavaliers  are  ruffled  and  powdered,  and  they  smile — they  smile, 
like  the  maidens,  as  their  historian  commences. 

"  So  I  sit  in  the  merry  May  sunshine  and  idly  dream — summoning, 
from  the  dead,  those  gracious  figures,  before  going  to  accomplish  my 
design.  Soon  I  will  go;  here,  in  my  plain  old  Virginia  country 
house,  I  will  tell  my  plain  old  story. 

"  Some  day,  doubtless,  't  will  be  edited,  and  so  sent  forth  to  the 
world ;  but  what  matter  if 't  is  not  ?  I  shall  live  again,  as  I  write,  in 
the  beautiful  past — the  sound  of  those  noble  voices  is  my  consolation. 

"  C.  EFFINGHAM. 

"  GLENGABT,  May  3,  18 — ." 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE                                                                                        PAGE 
PROLOGUE 7 

I. — Flowers  of  the  Forest 17 

II. — Flowers  of  the  Court 21 

HI. — How  Blossom  fainted,  and  what  followed 26 

IV. — A  Glimpse  of  his  Excellency  Lord  Dunmore 28 

V. — How  his  Excellency  got  the  better  of  a  Child 30 

VL — The  Great-Grandson  of  Pocahontas 38 

VII. — Conspiracy 46 

VIII.— Vanely 53 

IX.— Bonnybel  Vane 57 

X.—"  Old  Gouty" 65 

XI. — A  May  Morning  in  '74. 67 

XII. — The  Window  Panes  at  Vanely 73 

XIII. — How  they  danced  a  Minuet  de  la  Cour. 76 

XTV. — Which  verifies  the  Proverb,  that  listeners  never  hear  any 

good  of  themselves 81 

XV. — Bonnybel  looks  in  a  Mirror  and  laughs 85 

XVI. — The  News  from  Boston. 90 

XVII. — The  Model  of  a  Perfect  Lover 95 

XVIII. — How  Mr.  Lindon  came  to,  and  went  away  from  Vanely. . . .  101 
XIX. — Bonnybel  Vane  to  her  friend,  Mistress  Catherine  Effingham, 

at  "  The  Cove,"  in  Gloucester  County 109 

XX — How  Miss  Bonnybel  fainted  in  the  Anns  of  her  Cousin. ...  112 

"X"KT. — Bonnybel  Vane  to  her  Friend,  Kate  Effiugham 121 

XXIL— At  the  "Trysting  Tree" 125 

XXIII. — St.  John  makes  his  Entry  into  Richmond  Town 133 

XXIV. — In  which  the  Author  omits  describing  the  Races 138 

XXV. — How  Mr.  St.  John  encountered  a  Stranger,  and  of  what 

they  conversed. 141 

XXVI. — How  the  Stranger  became  an  Historian  and  a  Prophet. . . .  151 

XXVII. — How  St.  John  met  a  Friend  in  Williamsburg ,  159 

XXVIIL— The  Secret  Agent 164 

XXIX— How  a  Virginia  Girl  wrote  Verses  in  '74 169 


XIV  CONTENTS.. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXX. — How  Mr.  St.  John  returned  his  Commission  to  Lord  Dun- 

• 

more ]72 

XXXI. — The  Letter 180 

XXXIL— What  happened  at  the  "  Indian  Camp" 184 

XXXIH.— A  Sleeping  Beauty 187 

XXXIV. — St  John,  from  his  House  of  "Flower  of  Hundreds,"  to 

his  Friend,  Tom  Alston,  at  "Moorefield" 192 

XXXV. — The  Eeply. 194 

XXXVI.— Blossom 196 

XX.XVIL-- The  Woof  of  Events 198 

XXXVIIL— The  Fixed  Stars  of  Virginia 206 

XXXTX. — How  the  Stranger's  first  Prophecy  was  fulfilled 214 

XL. — How  his  Excellency  asked  the  Name  of  the  Stranger. ..  220 

XLI. — The  Steps  and  the  Base  of  Lord  Botetourt's  Statue 225 

XLLT. — The  "Apollo  Room,"  in  the  Raleigh  Tavern — Deus  ndbis 

hcec  otia  fecit. 229 

XLIII. — In  which  a  Chariot  arrives 233 

XLIV. — The  Assembly  at  the  Capitol 235 

XLV. — The  rival  Lieutenants  of  the  Guards. 237 

XLVL— The  Secretary 241 

XLVH. — St  John  and  Lindon 245 

XLVIIL— St.  John  goes  to  "  Flodden" 252 

XLIX. — How  Captain  Waters  fulfilled  his  Mission 356 

L. — The  Fugitive 262 

LI. — Her  only  Failing » 266 

LIL— The  Combat :  Red  and  White  Roses 269 

LILT. — The  News  reaches  Vanely. 277 

LTV. — Two  Hearts 281 

LV. — Which  commences  the  Second  Portion  of  the  History.. .  284 

LVI. — How  Captain  Waters  plucked  his  Geese* 292 

LVII. — Some  old  Friends :  at  least  the  Author  hopes  so 299 

LVIIL— The  Second  Warning 304 

LIX. — How  St.  John  drew  his  Sword  and  struck  at  a  Shadow..  308 

LX. — Tom  Alston  to  Henry  St.  John 314 

TVXTT — St.  John  tells  how  a  Spirit  entered  his  Room  at  Midnight.  318 
LXIL — How  Mr.  Alston  traveled  all  Night,  and  what  followed..  334 
LXHI. — A  Broken  Heart :  Henry  St.  John  to  Thomas  Alston . . .  343 
LXTV. — Henry  St.  John,  Esquire,  to  Miss  Bonnybel  Vane,  at 

Vanely,  in  Prince  George 344 

LXV. — "  How  strange !  I  knew  a  Bonnybel  once  1" 347 

LXVI. — The  last  Hallucination  of  St.  John 351 

LXVH. — How  St.  John  kept  his  Appointment  with  the  Stranger.  354 


CONTENTS.  XV 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

LXYIIL— A  Virginia  Giant 368 

LXIX.— On  the  Banks  of  Belle  Riviere 371 

LXX.— The  Old  Church  of  St.  John's , 380 

LXXI. — Bonnybel's  Dream 383 

LXXIL — Bonnybel  Vane  to  her  Friend,  Kate  Effingham 387 

LXXHL— The  Friends 390 

LXXIV. — The  Removal  of  the  Powder 397 

LXXV. — Williamsburg  in  Arms  and  Captain  "Waters  in  Ecstacies  408 

LXXVL— A  Meeting  of  Patriots 417 

LXXVIL— A  Young  Spy 422 

LXX VIII  .—General  Emngham  is  carried  off  by  a  Chariot 424 

LXXIX. — The  March  of  the  Hanoverians  on  Williamsburg. 428 

LXXX. — The  Meeting  at  Doncastle's  Ordinary. 433 

LXXXI. — The  Robbery  of  the  Coach  of  the  King's  Receiver  General  437 
LXXXII. — How  Lindon  left  Williamsburg,  and  whom  he  conversed 

with  at  "  Agincourt" 444 

LXXXIII.— A  Glance  at  Vanely 451 

LXXXTV". — Bonnybel  Vane  to  her  Friend,  Kate  Effingham 453 

LXXXV.— Lindon  Smiles 458 

LXXXVI.— The  Two  Letters 461 

LXXXVIL— The  Unraveling  of  the  Mesh 466 

LXXXVIIL— Fire  and  Storm 471 

LXXXIX.— The  End  of  the  Drama 477 

XC. — A  Summer  Day  at  "  Flower  of  Hundreds" 485 

EPILOGUE » 488 

HISTORICAL  ILLUSTRATIONS 491 


HENRY  ST,  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN, 


.  CHAPTER  I. 

FLOWERS      OF      THE      FOREST. 

IT  is  a  beautiful  May  morning,  in  the  year  1774. 

The  sun  is  shining  brightly,  the  oriole  swings  to  and  fro 
on  his  lofty  spray,  and  carols  to  the  spring ;  the  month  of 
flowers  has  dawned  upon  the  world  in  all  its  loveliness,  and 
scattered  daisies,  violets  and  buttercups  on  the  green  ex 
panse  of  smiling  meadows,  and  along  the  grassy  banks  of 
streams. 

Two  children  holding  each  other  by  the  hand,  take  their 
way  through  a  forest  stretching  to  the  west  of  Williams- 
burg,  the  old  capital  of  Virginia. 

They  are  a  boy  and  a  girl,  apparently  about  ten  years  of 
age. 

The  boy  is  a  gallant  looking  urchin,  clad  in  a  richly  em 
broidered  roundabout,  drab  shorts,  and  gayly  colored  stock 
ings,  which  disappear  in  high-quartered  shoes,  ornamented 
with  rosettes  of  ribbon;  his  curling  hair,  framing  ruddy 
cheeks,  is  surmounted  by  a  little  cocked  hat  with  a  jaunty 
feather. 

The  girl's  costume  is  in  some  points  similar. 

She  wears  a  sort  of  frock  coat,  so  to  speak,  of  pink  "  cali- 
manco,"  opening  in  front,  and  displaying  a  species  of  waist 
coat,  laced  across  a  ruffled  stomacher.  The  frock  falls  only 
to  the  knees,  where  it  is  met  by  white  silk  stockings,  held 

2 


18  HENBY  ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

by  velvet  garters,  ornamented  with  clocks  at  the  instep, 
and  ending  in  small  high-heeled  shoes,  with  galoshes.  Her 
head,  with  its  bright  curls,  is  protected  by  a  broad-rimmed 
chip  hat,  secured  with  a  blue  ribbon  tied  beneath  the 
chin. 

The  boy  is  gay,  mischievous,  full  of  mirth  and  high  spirits. 
The  girl  gentle,  sedate,  with  a  pensive  look  in  her  mild  eyes 
which  peer  out  from  a  number  of  stray  ringlets.  In  one 
hand  she  carries  a  checker-work  satchel,  holding  a  few 
books — for  they  are  going  to  the  old  field  school ;  in  the 
other,  a  nosegay  of  violets  and  sweet-briar  roses,  the  gift 
of  her  cavalier,  who  disputes  the  possession  of  her  hand 
with  the  flowers. 

They  soon  come  in  sight  of  the  old  field  school.  It  is  a 
log  building,  with  a  broad,  well-barred  door,  a  log  for  a 
step,  a  chimney  of  rough  stone  built  outside,  and  heavy 
oaken  shutters  on  rusty  hinges. 

The  rude  old  building  sleeps  beneath  the  lofty  oaks  very 
tranquilly ;  but  from  the  interior  comes  a  busy  hum  which 
indicates  the  presence  of  children. 

The  girl  looks  anxiously  toward  one  of  the  windows  and 
says: 

"  Oh  me,  Paul  1  See  the  sun  on  the  shutter !  We're  very 
late,  and  I'm  afraid  Uncle  Jimmy  '11  keep  us  in !" 

"  Let  him !"  replies  Mr.  Paul  with  great  gallantry,  "  who 
cares  ?  We've  bad  a  glorious  time  getting  flowers,  Blos 
som  ;  and  I  don't  mind  being  kept  in  with  youP 

Paul  inserts  one  thumb  into  the  arm-hole  of  his  waist 
coat  as  he  speaks,  and  bestows  a  devoted  look  upon  his 
companion. 

"  I  don't  mind  myself,"  says  Blossom,  hurrying  on,  "  but 
you  love  Prisoner's  Base  so,  Paul ! — and  then  you  came  in 
time  :  for  yonder  is  your  pony  tied  to  the  oak,  and  you'll  be 
kept  in,  because  you  came  to  meet  me." 

"  Well,  what  if  I  did  come  ?"  says  Paul,  carelessly,  "  al 
though  you  wouldn't  let  me  carry  your  satchel.  Is  Uncle 
Jimmy  to  ride  roughshod  over  me  for  that  ?  Can't  a  Vir- 


HENRY    ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  19 

ginia  gentleman  get  flowers  for  a  lady  without  being- 
brought  to  trial  ?" 

And  Paul  looks  proud  and  indignant. 

"A  lady,  Paul !"  says  Blossom,  with  a  low  silvery  laugh ; 
"  why  I'm  only  a  child  !" 

"  You're  my  sweetheart." 

"  Pshaw,  Paul !  what  a  goose  you  are !  how  foolish  you 
do  talk  I" 

And  Blossom  turns  away  her  head,  hastening  on  towards 
the  school-house.  Paul  gets  before  her,  however,  and  in  a 
moment  they  are  standing  in  presence  of  Uncle  Jimmy 
Doubleday,  an  old  gentleman  with  a  lengthy  coat,  huge 
goggles,  splatterdashes,  and  a  gray  queue,  who  presides 
over  a  crowd  of  boys  and  girls — all  rosy  cheeks,  curls, 
freckles  and  health — busy  studying  at  the  long  desks  against 
the  walls. 

Uncle  Jimmy  has  just  inflicted  condign  punishment  upon 
an  urchin  who  was  drawing  individuals  in  a  boxing  attitude 
upon  his  slate — the  criminal  having  been  posted  in  a  corner 
with  the  slate  around  his  neck,  and  a  huge  dunce's  cap  upon 
his  head.  Uncle  Jimmy  is  therefore  irate.  He  sternly  de 
mands  of  Paul  and  Blossom  why  they  are  so  late. 

Paul,  who  still  holds  his  companion's  hand,  declares,  with 
an  easy  air,  that  he  is  the  cause  of  it:  he  thought  he'd  carry 
Blossom  off  to  get  some  flowers. 

"  Oh  no,  Uncle  Jimmy !"  says  Blossom,  with  a  timid  look 
into  the  old  schoolmaster's  face,  "  I  was  late  before,  and 
Paul  is  not  to  blame.  Papa  came  home  last  night,  and  I 
love  to  talk  with  him  so  much." 

At  the  word  papa,  Uncle  Jimmy  seems  suddenly  molli 
fied. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  says,  looking  through  his  great  goggles 
at  the  child's  face,  and  trying  not  to  smile,  "  well,  Blossom, 
you  are  excused  ;  you  never  do  wrong  purposely,  my  child  ; 
and  for  your  sake  I  excuse  this  youngster.  But  take  care 
sir !"  added  Uncle  Jimmy,  turning  with  a  tremendous  frown 
to  the  urchin,  "  take  care,  in  future,  Mr.  Paul  Effingham  1  I 


20  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

make  the  prediction,  that  the  birch  destined  for  you,  is 
growing." 

And  Uncle  Jimmy  scowled  ferociously  at  Paul,  who  saun 
tered  with  a  jaunty  air  toward  his  desk.  For  Paul  was  a 
favorite  too. 

The  old  pedagogue  fell  into  a  reverie,  caressed  gently 
Blossom's  hair,  heaved  a  sigh,  and  then  awoke.  Having 
vigorously  applied  the  birch  to  a  youngster  who  had  just 
made  his  neighbor  execute  a  terrible  leap,  by  sticking  a  pin 
into  him,  Uncle  Jimmy  called  the  next  class,  and  so  the  old 
field  school  went  on  its  way  as  usual. 

At  last  came  "  play  time,"  and  the  old  schoolmaster  closed 
his  books.  To  his  profound  astonishment  the  girls  and  ur 
chins  did  not  move.  Uncle  Jimmy  saw  with  incredulous 
stupefaction  that  they  did  not  snatch  their  hats  with  ardor, 
and  rush  into  the  open  air. 

The  worthy  pedagogue  rubbed  his  eyes.  Was  he  dream 
ing?  Had  he  made  a  mistake  and  forestalled  the  hour? 
No :  there  was  the  rustic  dial  consisting  of  a  nail  driven 
into  the  window  seat,  whose  shadow,  when  it  ran  along  a 
certain  line,  marked  noon  ;  and  now  the  shadow  plainly  in 
dicated  twelve.  Instead  of  rushing  out,  the  boys  and  girls 
had  gathered  around  Blossom,  and  evidently  desired  to  use 
her  favor  with  the  pedagogue  to  obtain  some  boon. 

Blossom  seemed  to  resist ;  but  the  eloquent  advocates  re 
doubled  their  entreaties,  and  at  last  the  girl  approached  the 
schoolmaster. 

"  If  you  please,  Uncle  Jimmy,"  she  said,  timidly,  "  we 
want  you  to  give  us  a  holiday  to-day." 

"Holiday!"  cried  Uncle  Jimmy,  with  a  horrified  expres 
sion,  "  holiday !  On  what  earthly  ground  ?" 

Blossom  was  a  little  abashed  by  the  loud  exclamation,  and 
faltered. 

"  There,  my  child — there,  Blossom,"  said  Uncle  Jimmy, 
"  don't  mind  my  outcry.  I'm  not  a  little  forest  bird  like 
you,  that  does  nothing  but  cheep  and  twitter.  I  growl : 
don't  mind  me ;  but  say  why  you  want  a  holiday.  Can 
any  one  explain  such  an  unusual  request  ?" 


HENRY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  21 

And  the  pedagogue  addressed  himself  with  dignity  to 
the  crowd.  He  had  cause  to  regret  the  movement.  A 
deafening  explanation  greeted  his  appeal,  above  whose  up 
roar  were  heard  only  the  words,  "  They're  coming !  They're 
coming !  They're  coming !" 

The  schoolmaster  closed  his  ears  with  horror ;  and  then 
rising  to  his  full  height  upon  the  rostrum,  extended  hoth  his 
hands  in  wrath  above  the  youthful  orators,  and  cried — 

"  Cease,  ye  young  bulls  of  Bashan ! — cease !  Have  you 
no  regard  for  my  ears,  unhappy  reprobates  that  you  are ! 
Let  Blossom  speak,  and  hold  your  clatter,  or  I'll  birch 
every  mother's  son  of  you !" 

It  seemed  that  even  the  little  maidens  were  terrified  by 
this  address  to  the  boys.  A  deep  silence  followed,  and 
Blossom  having  again  urged  the  general  request,  Uncle 
Jimmy  did  what  he  had  never  for  a  moment  hesitated  about 
— he  gave  the  desired  holiday. 

"  Go,  go  my  children,"  he  said,  "  yes,  go  and  see  the  vain 
pageant  of  a  poor  mimic  royalty !  You  are  not  an  old  fel 
low  like  me ;  you  are  children,  and  love  music,  and  bells 
ringing,  and  fine  dresses.  Go  see  how  gallant  we  can  be  in 
old  Virginia  when  we — pshaw !  I'm  not  making  an  address ! 
Go,  children,  and  come  early  in  the  morning." 

With  these  words  Uncle  Jimmy  extended  his  hands  pa 
ternally,  and  in  a  minute  and  a  half  the  old  school-house 
was  deserted. 

At  the  same  moment  the  noise  of  chariots  was  heard  upon 
the  forest  road  in  front  of  the  school-house — the  rolling  of 
wheels,  and  the  sound  of  the  hoofs  of  horses. 


22  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER    II. 
FLOWERS      OF      THE      C  O U K  T  . 

PAUL  was  hastening,  with  his  arm  around  Blossom,  toward 
the  tree  where  his  pony  Shag  was  tied — the  young  gentle 
man's  design  being  to  convey  his  sweetheart  behind  him 
into  WiUiamsburg — when  suddenly  both  stopped,  arrested 
by  the  appearance  of  a  brilliant  cavalcade, 

It  consisted  of  three  richly  decorated  chariots,  each  drawn 
by  six  glossy  horses,  and  followed  by  plainer  vehicles.  The 
drivers  and  footmen  who  hung  behind  were  white  English 
servants,  as  were  the  numerous  outriders. 

The  first  equipage  contained  three  ladies — the  rest  seemed 
occupied  chiefly  by  gentlemen. 

As  the  flock  of  children  ran  out  to  look  upon  the  brilliant 
spectacle,  the  head  of  a  young  lady  was  thrust  from  the 
window  of  the  foremost  coach,  and  she  seemed  to  be  calling 
the  attention  of  her  companions  to  the  children. 

It  was  a  beautiful  face,  framed  in  bright  curls,  and  look 
ing  very  sweet  and  good-humored. 

"  Isn't  she  pretty,  Paul  ?"  said  Blossom,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Uncommonly,"  returned  Paul,  with  the  air  of  a  connois 
seur  ;  "  but  look,  Blossom,  she  is  beckoning  to  you !" 

In  fact,  the  pretty  picture  of  the  boy  and  girl,  with  their 
arms  around  each  other,  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
young  lady,  and  taking  advantage  of  a  momentary  pause, 
occasioned  by  a  portion  of  the  harness  becoming  out  of 
place,  she  had  really  beckoned  to  the  girl. 

Blossom  approached  the  chariot,  followed  by  Paul,  and 
looked  with  timid  grace  into  the  face  of  the  young  lady,  who 
smiled  sweetly,  and  gave  her  hand  to  each. 

"  That  is  a  school-house,  is  it  not,  my  dear  ?"  she  said ; 
"  every  thing  is  bright  here,  and  you  and  all  look  very 
happy." 

"  That's  because  Blossom  is  so  good,  ma'am,"  said  Paul 
politely ;  "  everybody's  happy  where  she  is." 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  23 

"  Blossom,"  said  the  lady  smiling,  "  is  that  your  name  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  returned  the  child,  "  and  his  is  Paul." 

"  Paul !  do  you  hear,  Susan  ?"  said  the  young  lady,  turn 
ing  one  of  her  companions ;  "  what  pretty  names  they  have 
in  Virginia — Blossom  and  Paul!  and  you  know  we  stopped 
last  night  at  Roslyn  JZall." 

Then  turning  to  the  children,  the  young  lady  added : 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  and  see  me,  Blossom — and  you 
too,  Paul.  My  name  is  Augusta  Murray,  and  we  are  going 
to  live  in  Williamsburg  now." 

As  she  spoke,  the  footman  again  mounted  behind,  having 
fixed  the  harness,  and  the  young  lady  again  gave  her  hand 
to  the  children,  with  a  pleased  smile. 

The  cavalcade  then  resumed  its  way  slowly. 

The  flock  of  children,  Blossom  and  Paul  leading,  sur 
rounded  and  followed  it,  as  a  triumphal  escort,  and  it  went 
thus  attended  toward  the  old  capital. 

For  many  hours  the  good  town  of  Williamsburg  has  been 
in  commotion.  An  immense  crowd  has  assembled,  and 
the  waves  of  the  multitude  now  extend  from  the  college 
of  "William  and  Mary,"  past  the  old  magazine,  and  the 
"  Raleigh"  tavern,  quite  onward  to  the  steps  of  the  capitol, 
where,around  the  base  of  Lord  Botetourt's  statue,  the  rest 
less  and  variegated  billows  seem  to  break  into  foam  and 
spray. 

All  classes,  all  costumes  are  seen.  Plain  homespun  clothes 
and  rich  doublets,  gentry  and  commoners,  merchants  and 
factors,  and  yeomen,  and  negroes,  and  a  great  crowd  of 
students  from  the  college  of  "  William  and  Mary,"  who 
flock  in  gay  groups  along  the  thoroughfares,  cracking  jokes, 
like  their  brethren  in  all  ages. 

"  Duke-of-Gloucester-street"  thus  represents  a  jubilant 
carnival :  it  is  a  conglomeration  of  forms,  plain  and  pictur 
esque,  old  and  young,  male  and  female — jesting,  laughing, 
shouting,  jostling — awaiting  the  event  of  the  day. 

From  time  to  time  the  crowd  moves  to  and  fro  unwilling 
ly,  and  as  it  were  under  protest ;  then  rapidly  divides  itself 


24  HENRY    ST.   JOHN     GENTLEMAN. 

into  parallel  columns  on  each  side  of  the  street ;  and  through 
this  space  rolls  a  chariot,  with  four  glossy  horses.  It  con 
tains  some  old  planter  in  his  richest  pourpoint,  with  his  wife 
and  daughters  blazing  in  silk  and  velvet  and  diamonds ;  and 
the  driver  is  a  portly  and  consequential  negro,  who,  proud 
of  himself,  his  master,  and  his  position,  looks  down  with 
aristocratic  condescension  on  the  "  poor  white  folks." 

As  the  chariot  disappears  in  the  direction  of  the  palace 
of  the  Governor,  some  richly  clad  gallant,  mounted  upon 
his  gayly-caparisoned  thorough-bred,  prances  by  in  the  same 
direction ;  and  if  he  be  handsome  he  occasions  favorable  re 
marks  from  the  damsels,  whose  heads  are  visible  in  the  win 
dows  above. 

He  is  succeeded  by  some  country  cart  of  rude  pine  board, 
drawn  by  a  solemn-looking  donkey ;  and  as  the  old  country 
man  and  his  wife  bounce  up  and  down,  the  heads  at  the 
windows  utter  jests  and  laughter — a  taste  for  the  grotesque 
having  characterized  the  maidens  of  that  epoch,  as  it  does 
the  damsels  of  to-day. 

With  the  uproarious  crowd  mingle  members  of  the  House 
of  Burgesses,  and  many  personages  who  seem  to  look  with 
a  philosophic  eye  on  the  carnival.  These  do  not  laugh  or 
jest ;  they  wait ;  they  seek  for  the  currents  of  popular  opin 
ion,  and  continue  to  gaze  silently. 

All  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult,  a  bell  is  heard, 
and  this  is  followed  by  a  shout. 

Then  a  great  undulation  takes  place  in  the  mass;  the 
waves  roll  right  and  left,  young  girls  are  precipitated  into 
strangers'  arms  ;  through  the  open  space  comes  on  a  troop 
of  horsemen  from  the  direction  of  the  palace — Lord  Dun- 
more's  guards,  who  occupy  barracks  near  at  hand. 

They  ride  vigorous  horses,  and  are  clad  in  the  British 
uniform,  being,  indeed,  Englishmen.  They  disappear  at  the 
western  end  of  Gloucester  street,  followed  by  some  mur 
murs. 

The  crowd  closes  after  them ;  the  bells  continue  to  ring ; 
the  windows  are  more  densely  crowded  ;  urchins  even 


HEXEY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  25 

mount  upon  the  old  Magazine,  and  clasp  the  flag-staff  bear 
ing  aloft  the  banner  of  St.  George.  A  great  shout  tells 
that  the  object  of  all  this  excitement  has  entered  the  capital. 

The  confusion  becomes  now  like  Pandemonium.  The 
heads  of  young  girls  are  thrust  to  a  dangerous  distance  from 
the  windows  ;  handkerchiefs  are  violently  waved  by  these 
splendor-loving  youthful  personages ;  and  the  number  of 
damsels,  children,  and  all  weaker  characters  who  are  pre 
cipitated  upon  alien  bosoms  is  more  marked  than  ever. 

But  the  end  is  accomplished  ;  the  center  of  the  street  is 
left  free. 

A  score  of  the  guards,  riding  four  abreast,  precede  the 
cavalcade  which  we  have  seen  stop  a  moment  near  the  old 
field  school.  As  many  follow  it. 

The  first  chariot  contains  the  Countess  of  Dunmore,  wife 
of  his  Excellency  the  Governor,  with  her  daughters  the  La 
dies  Susan  and  Augusta. 

The  second  is  occupied  by  Lady  Catherine  and  her  broth 
ers,  the  Honorable  Alexander  and  John  Murray. 

The  third  contains  Lord  Fincastle,  Captain  Foy,  the  pri 
vate  secretary  of  his  Excellency,  and  his  wife.  Captain 
Foy  looks  forth  calmly  on  the  crowd — his  pale,  quiet  face 
betrays  nothing. 

But  the  countess,  her  daughters  and  her  sons,  are  plainly 
gratified  by  their  reception.  The  young  ladies  especially, 
with  their  rosy  and  good-humored  faces,  seem  far  from  in 
different  to  the  shouts  of  welcome  which  greet  them.  They 
look  out  and  smile,  and  raise  their  eyes  to  the  fair  faces  at 
the  windows,  or  scan  the  crowd. 

The  crowd  looks  back  amiably.  It  pays  no  attention  to 
Lord  Fincastle,  Captain  Foy,  or  the  sons  of  his  Excellency. 
They  are  accustomed  to  lords  and  honorables,  and  prefer 
the  smiling  faces  of  the  young  ladies. 

Thus  the  cortege  passes  alotig  Gloucester  street,  accom 
panied  by  the  crowd  which  bears  it  on  its  way.  The  bells 
continue  to  ring — a  band  of  music  in  the  palace  grounds 
commences  an  inspiring  march — the  chariots  enter  the  great 

2 


26  HENKY    ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

gateway,  flanked  as  now  by  the  two  guard-houses — and  then 
the  Scottish  lindens  hide  them,  from  the  eyes  of  the  multi 
tude. 

Virginia  has  beheld  her  last  viceregal "  entrance."* 


CHAPTER    III. 

HOW  BLOSSOM  FAINTED,  AND   WHAT  FOLLOWED. 

THE  crowd  does  not  at  once  disperse.  It  busies  itself 
looking  at  the  chariots,  at  the  fat  gentleman  on  the  palace 
portico,  at  the  musicians  who  blow  away  with  puffed  cheeks. 

The  strident  music  has  a  less  pleasing  effect  upon  the 
horses  of  the  troop,  who,  ranged  on  each  side  of  the  great 
gate,  defend  the  passage  against  all  but  the  chariots  of  the 
"  gentry." 

The  animals  move  uneasily,  threatening  every  moment  to 
trample  on  the  crowd,  and  their  riders  are  evidently  as  ill 
at  ease. 

This  sentiment  seems  experienced,  more  than  all,  by  their 
commander. 

He  is  a  young  man  of  twenty-four  or  five,  wearing  a  rich 
uniform,  and  a  heavy  saber.  He  curbs  with  a  vigorous  hand 
his  restive  charger ;  his  dark  eyebrows  are  knit  into  a  heavy 
frown. 

More  than  once  his  animal  has  just  escaped  trampling  on 
some  member  of  the  crowd  whose  attention  is  attracted  by 
the  efforts  he  plainly  makes  to  subdue  the  horse  ;  but  the 
officer  seems  ill  disposed  to  furnish  an  object  for  popular 
comment.  His  patience  all  at  once  gives  way — anger  over 
comes  him — and  striking  the  animal  violently  on  the  head 
with  his  gauutleted  hand,  he  mutters  something  very  much 
like  an  imprecation. 

The   horse   backs,  then   starts  forward   under  the  spur 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  L 


HESTKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  2V 

driven  violently  into  his  side.  At  the  same  instant  a  cry 
beneath  the  very  feet  of  the  charger  is  heard,  and  the 
young  man  sees  that  a  child  has  fallen  under  the  trampling 
hoofs. 

A  score  of  hands  are  stretched  out — as  many  exclama 
tions  heard — but  the  young  officer  forestalls  assistance.  He 
throws  himself  from  the  saddle,  and  raising  the  figure  of  the 
child  in  his  arms,  asks  anxiously  if  she  is  hurt. 

"  No  sir — I  believe — not,"  she  falters.  "  I  was  a  little 
frightened — I  can  stand — I  think,  sir." 

And  Blossom — for  it  is  our  little  friend  of  the  old  field 
school,  separated  from  Paul  by  the  crowd — Blossom  glided 
from  the  encircling  arm,  and  placed  her  feet  upon  the 
ground. 

Had  not  the  young  man  supported  her  again,  she  would 
have  fallen.  The  frown  deepened  on  his  face,  and  some 
thing  like  a  growl  issued  from  his  lips. 

"  Go  !"  he  said,  turning  to  the  troop  with  an  imperious 
gesture,  "  Go !  you  are  disbanded  !" 

The  troopers  gladly  obeyed.  They  quickly  returned  to 
their  barracks  through  the  crowd,  which  made  way  for  them, 
one  of  them  leading  the  young  officer's  horse. 

As  they  disappeared  he  felt  the  slender  form  weigh  heavily 
upon  his  arm.  A  sudden  pallor  diffused  itself  over  Blos 
som's  countenance  ;  the  long  lashes  drooped  upon  the  cheek, 
and  the  weak  head  fell  like  a  wounded  bird's  upon  the  young 

man's  breast.    The  child's  knees  bent  beneath  her,  and  she 

7    . 

fainted  in  his  arms. 

A  glance  told  him  all,  and  raising  the  light  figure  wholly 
from  the  ground,  he  bore  the  child  quickly  beneath  the  lin 
dens  into  the  palace  of  the  Governor. 

A  door  was  half  open  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  and  perceiv 
ing  a  vessel  of  water  upon  a  sideboard,  he  hastened  thither 
and  bathed  the  child's  forehead  in  the  cool  liquid. 

A  slight  tremor  now  ran  through  her  frame,  the  color  re 
turned  to  her  cheeks,  and  with  a  deep  sigh  Blossom  opened 
her  eyes. 


28  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

"Ah !"  exclaimed  the  officer,  drawing  a  long  breath  of  re 
lief,  "  there 's  your  color  back  again,  my  little  girl !  That 's 
well !  You  are  not  hurt,  I  hope.  'Tis  but  a  poor  pageant 
that  ends  with  injury  to  a  child  ;  and  I  'd  much  rather  re 
sign  my  commission  than  have  it  on  my  conscience  !" 

A  species  of  haughty  growl,  accompanied  by  the  rustle  of 
silk  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  apartment,  attracted  his  at 
tention  as  he  spoke,  and,  turning  round,  the  young  officer 
saw  that  he  was  in  presence  of  Lord  Dunmore  and  his 
household,  who  had  apparently  been  so  much  surprised  by 
his  entrance  as  not  to  have  been  able  either  to  speak  or 
move. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

A   GLIMPSE  OP   HIS   EXCELLENCY  LORD   DUNMORE. 

LORD  DUNMORE  was  clad  on  this  occasion  with  great 
splendor.  His  short  and  somewhat  corpulent  person  had 
apparently  been  decorated  by  his  valet  with  extraordinary 
care. 

He  wore  a  full  dress — silk  stockings,  gold  embroidered 
waistcoat,  velvet  surcoat,  also  embroidered,  a  bag  wig,  and 
a  profusion  of  ruffles.  At  his  button  hole  fluttered  an  order 
of  nobility. 

The"  red  and  somewhat  coarse  face  did  not  prepossess 
strangers  in  his  lordship's  favor.  They  seemed  to  feel  that 
this  countenance  must  needs  indicate  a  scheming  and  wholly 
egotistical  nature.  And  it  is  certain  that  reliable  records 
establish  this  view.  Lord  Dunmore  was  not  proficient  even 
in  intrigue.  He  bungled  in  the  dark  paths  which  he  trod, 
and  stumbled.  All  his  plans  went  ill.  No  one  would  rely 
on  him.  More  than  once,  when  thrown  in  collision  with  the 
growing  spirit  of  liberty  in  the  colonies,  and  its  advocates 
ir  the  Burgesses,  he  had  essayed  to  wheedle  the  members ; 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAH.  29 

and  for  this  purpose  had  descended,  as  he  conceived,  to  un 
due  familiarity.  But  this  manner  did  not  set  well  upon  him. 
Essentially  unreliable  and  scheming  by  nature,  he  could  not 
conceal  his  character,  and  generally  ended  by  disgusting 
those  whom  he  desired  to  conciliate.  He  was  not  wanting 
in  those  social  attentions  which  his  predecessors  from  the 
time  of  Berkeley  had  found  so  useful ;  but  the  guest  whom 
he  entertained  generally  went  away  distrusting  his  uneasy 
politeness,  and  doubting  the  reality  and  good  faith  of  his 
Excellency's  protestations. 

Lord  Dunmore  had  little  of  that  urbanity  and  cordial  po 
liteness  which  characterized  his  amiable  predecessor,  Francis 
Fauquier ;  he  possessed  none  of  the  tranquil  and  well-bred 
courtesy  and  ease  of  the  justly  popular  Lord  Botetourt,  who 
had  coveted  no  other  title  than  that  of  "  Virginia  gentle 
man."  In  Fauquier  the  planters  of  the  cplony  could  and 
did  easily  pardon  a  mania  for  card  playing  and  wine  ;  they 
had  not  the  same  charity  for  Lord  Dunmore's  less  amiable 
weaknesses.  While  the  counties  of  "  Fauquier"  and  "  Bote 
tourt"  still  remain,  and  will  always,  the  county  of  "  Dun- 
more"  had  its  name  changed  unanimously  to  "  Shenan- 
doah." 

The  people  of  Virginia  at  the  period  brought  ugly  charges 
against  his  Excellency.  They  said  that  through  his  secret 
agent,  Conolly,  he  was  embroiling  the  Virginians  and  Penn- 
sylvanians  about  the  boundary  line,  to  divert  attention  from 
the  designs  of  the  ministry,  and  dissipate  the  increasing 
spirit  of  rebellion.  They  added  that  he  had  a  league  with 
the  savages,  whom  he  tempted  to  make  incursions  on  the 
Virginia  frontier,*  and  thus  break  the  opposition  to  the 
English  Parliament  by  exhausting  the  colony's  resources. 
They  finally  declared  that  he  was  a  traitor,  inasmuch  as  he 
attempted  to  betray  Lewis  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  at 
Point  Pleasant.  Colonel  Bland  charged  his  Excellency 
with  lying ;  said  he  held  "  lewd  and  filthy  orgies  in  his  pal- 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  IT. 


30  HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

ace ;"  and  the  events  which  attended  the  last  months  of  his 
residence  seem  to  support  this  view  of  his  character. 

His  Excellency,  indeed,  was  no  favorite  with  the  Virgin 
ians,  who  pardon  much  if  a  man  possesses  refinement  and 
amiability.  "  Lord  Dunmore,"  says  Mr.  Wirt,  "  was  not  a 
man  of  popular  manners ;  he  had  nothing  of  the  mildness, 
the  purity,  the  benevolence,  and  suavity  of  his  predecessor. 
On  the  contrary  he  is  represented  as  having  been  rude  and 
offensive;  coarse  in  his  figure,  his  countenance  and  his  man 
ners." 

That  his  Excellency  was  both  cruel  and  cowardly,  the 
events  which  attended  his  flight  from  Williamsburg,  and 
his  piratical  ravages  on  the  shores  of  the  Chesapeake,  will 
prove  abundantly ;  defying  all  explanation  or  apology. 


CHAPTER    V. 

IK   WHICH    HIS   EXCELLENCY   GETS   THE   BETTER    OF   A    CHILD. 

LORD  DUNMORE  stood  motionless  in  his  rich  dress,  by  the 
window,  and  neither  deigned  to  bow  or  speak,  when  the 
young  officer  turned  to  him. 

Fauquier  would  have  been  at  his  side  with  a  smile 
and  a  welcome.  Dunmore  stood  still  and  raised  his  head 
haughtily. 

This  lofty  expression,  however,  seemed  to  produce  very 
little  effect  on  the  intruder.  For  some  time  now  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  excellencies  and  honorables.  He  placed 
the  child  on  a  settee,  and  made  the  ladies  a  profound  bow. 

"Your  Excellency  will  pardon  my  unceremonious  en 
trance,"  he  said,  coolly ;  "  there  was  no  one  to  announce 
me,  and  this  child  had  fainted." 

"  Your  entrance  was  very  natural,  and  quite  pardonable, 
sir,"  said  Lord  Dunmore,  with  an  expression  of  mingled 
hauteur  and  condescension ;  and  then  extending  his  hand 


HENBY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  31 

ceremoniously  towards  the  young  man,  he  added,  "  Lady 
Dunmore,  permit  me  to  present  to  you,  and  my  daughters, 
Mr.  St.  John,  lieutenant  of  my  guards." 

The  officer  bowed  low  again,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  from 
the  slight  movement  of  his  proud  lip  that  something  in  the 
title  thus  bestowed  upon  him  was  displeasing. 

Lady  Dunmore  was  about  to  speak,  and  from  the  amiable 
smile  upon  her  countenance,  to  refer,  doubtless,  to  the  pleas 
ant  reception  she  had  met  with,  and  Mr.  St.  John's  part 
therein,  when  his  Excellency  forestalled  such  colloquy  by 
recalling  attention  to  Blossom. 

As  he  looked  at  the  child  there  was  as  little  evidence  of 
courtesy  or  amiability  as  in  his  address  to  Mr.  St.  John, 
and  he  said,  almost  rudely — 

"Is  this  young  person  hurt,  sir  ?  I  confess  I  see  no  traces 
of  any  accident,  unless  you  call  lassitude  an  accident." 

Mr.  St.  John's  brow  clouded  more  and  more ;  for  under 
the  circumstances  of  the  case,  the  tone  of  Lord  Dunmore 
was  as  much  an  insult  to  himself  as  to  the  child ;  and  the 
young  man  did  not  seem  to  have  been  habituated  to  insult. 
Before  he  could  reply,  however,  the  Governor  turned  away 
from  him  to  Blossom,  and  said,  in  the  same  careless  and 
rude  tone : 

"  What  happened  to  you  ?" 

"I  fainted,  sir,"  murmured  the  child,  frightened  at  the 
cold  face  and  harsh  voice,  "  in  the  crowd,  sir." 

"  A  mere  trifle !   Where  do  you  live — in  Williamsburg  ?" 

"  No  sir — I  came  to  see  the  procession,  and — " 

"  What !  you  had  the  imprudence  to  come  to  town  thus ! 
Your  parents  show  little  sense  in  their  government." 

"  Paul  was  with  me,"  murmured  Blossom — "  we  go 
to  school  at  Uncle  Jimmy's,  not  far  from  here,  and  our 
house  is  not  so  far  as  that.  I  think  I  'can  walk  home 
now,  sir!" 

And  anxious  to  get  away  from  the  forbidding  presence  of 
her  interlocutor,  Blossom  rose  to  her  feet,  and  made  a  step 
toward  the  door.  Her  strength,  however,  was  unequal  to 


32  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

the  exertion,  and  she  sank  down  again  with  an  expression  of 
pain. 

Mr.  St.  John,  whose  brow  had  assumed  a  darker  and 
darker  cloud,  as  he  stood  listening  to  this  conversation, 
would  have  hastened  to  her,  but  he  was  forestalled  by  one 
of  the  young  ladies,  who  rose  quickly,  and  in  a  moment  was 
at  the  child's  side.  It  was  the  Lady  Augusta  whom  Blos 
som  had  met  at  the  old  school. 

"Are  you  much  hurt,  Blossom?"  she  said,  kindly  and 
softly  ;  "  don't  try  to  walk  yet." 

The  child  murmured  something  which  was  inaudible. 

"  Are  you  not  sick  ?"  asked  the  young  lady,  in  the  same 
kind  voice. 

"  No  ma'am,"  faltered  Blossom. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are,"  said  the  young  lady,  gazing  at  the 
child  with  tender  pity ;  "  you  must  let  his  lordship  send  you 
home  in  his  chariot." 

"  In  his  chariot,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

Blossom  murmured  that  she  could  walk ;  she  was  very 
much  obliged  for  her  kindness ;  then  the  child  paused,  her 
voice  dying  away  in  her  throat. 

The  young  lady  had  looked  at  her  so  kindly,  and  held 
the  small  hand  so  lovingly  in  her  own,  that  Blossom,  in  her 
weak  condition,  had  been  too  much  affected  to  speak. 

"  Come,  Lady  Augusta,"  said  Lord  Dunmore,  coldly,  "  let 
us  prepare  to  receive  the  guests  in  the  drawing-room.  As 
for  this  child—" 

"  Yes,  yes,  your  lordship,"  said  the  young  lady  submis 
sively  and  hurriedly,  and  turning  to  the  child  she  said  : 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?" 

"  Just  out  of  town,  ma'am." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Beatrice,  ma'am — but  they  call  me  Blossom." 

"Oh  I  know,"  said  the  young  lady,  "but  your  other 
name  ?" 

"  Beatrice  Waters,  ma'am." 


HEXRT   ST.  JOHN",   GENTLEMAN.  33 

Lord  Dunmore,  who  had  turned  stiffly  away,  wheeled 
round  as  he  heard  this  name. 

"  Did  you  say  Waters  ?"  he  asked  curtly. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  murmured  Blossom. 

"What  Waters?" 

"  Sir  ?" 

"  I  asked  you  what  was  the  Christian  name  of  you  fa 
ther." 

"  Charles,  sir — he  is  Mr.  Charles  Waters." 

His  Excellency's  brow  clouded  over,  and  he  frowned. 

"  Lady  Augusta,"  he  said,  "  do  you  know  who  you  are 
fondling  ?" 

The  young  lady  turned  a  frightened  look  upon  her  father, 
and  murmured  some  inaudible  words. 

"  You  are  bestowing  your  caresses  upon  the  daughter  of 
the  most  dangerous — yes !  the  blackest-hearted  rebel  in  this 
colony!  A  man,"  added  Lord  Dunmore,  with  growing 
choler,  "  who  is  a  firebrand  of  sedition,  and  who  will  swing 
from  the  gallows  if  my  authority  lasts,  and  I  lay  hands  on 
him  !  It  is  his  offspring  that  my  daughter,  mn.dame,  is  be 
stowing  her  attentions  upon  !" 

His  Excellency  was  mastered  by  one  of  those  sudden  fits 
of  anger  to  which  he  was  constitutionally  subject.  His 
countenance  reddened,  and  became  puffed  up ;  the  vein  in 
his  forehead  was  swollen,  and  his  small  keen  eyes  flashed, 
as  he  spoke  in  his  tone  of  disdainful  roughness  and  anger. 

His  family  were  accustomed  to  humor  him  when  these  fits 
seized  upon  him ;  and  by  submitting,  to  thus  divert  and 
dissipate  those  domestic  thunderbolts  of  his  lordship. 

One  person  present,  however,  did  not  seem  to  have  been 
trained  to  this  species  of  deference.  Mr.  St.  John  had  ap 
parently  been  in  an  ill-humor  all  day ;  moreover,  he  seemed 
to  be  accustomed,  himself,  to  courtesy  at  the  very  least, 
and  the  utter  want  of  ceremony  on  the  part  of  his  lordship, 
added  to  the  unfeeling  insults  directed  toward  his  young 
protegee,  produced  in  Mr.  St.  John's  countenance  an  ex 
pression  of  impetuous  anger  and  no  little  disdain. 

2* 


34  HEKKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

"Perhaps  your  lordship  is  mistaken  in  the  individual 
who  is  this  child's  father,"  he  now  said,  with  cold  courtesy. 

"Impossible,  sir!  I'm  not  mistaken!"  replied  his  Excel 
lency,  surveying  the  young  man  with  a  look  which  seemed 
to  ask  if  he  had  the  presumption  to  address  him  in  that 
tone. 

Mr.  St.  John's  brow  darkened  more  and  more. 

"  At  least  this  girl  does  not  resemble  a  very  dangerous 
rebel,"  he  said,  with  an  imperceptible  shade  of  sarcasm  in 
his  voice,  which  made  the  Governor's  cheek  flush  with 
rage. 

"  Mr.  St.  John  !"  he  said. 

"Your  Excellency,"  was  the  cold  reply. 

"  This  is  a  singular  colloquy !  Your  meaning,  if  you 
please,  in  reading  me  a  lecture,  sir !" 

"I  read  no  lecture  to  your  lordship,"  replied  the  young 
man,  with  a  haughty  look,  and  without  lowering  his  eyes ; 
"  my  meaning  simply  is,  that  whatever  may  be  the  charac 
ter  of  this  child's  father — his  dangerous  character — your 
lordship  can't  possibly  be  afraid  of  the  child  herself." 

For  a  moment  his  Excellency's  countenance  resembled 
a  thnnder-cloud  from  which  a  flash  of  lightning  was  about 
to  dart.  The  vein  in  his  forehead  turned  black,  and  his 
frame  trembled  with  anger.  But  his  prudence  suddenly 
came  to  control  him ;  he  seemed  to  feel  the  bad  policy  of 
a  quarrel  with  Mr.  St.  John ;  and  passing  from  rage  to  hau 
teur,  he  endeavored  to  speak  in  a  tone  of  insulted  dignity. 

"I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  entering  into  debates  with 
young  men,  sir,"  he  said,  "and  I  must  beg  that  this  dis 
cussion  may  here  end.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  St.  John, 
that  I  find  you,  like  other  gentlemen  of  this  colony,  inclined 
to  oppose  my  opinions  and  wishes,  as  well  as  strangely  ne 
glectful  of  that  ceremony  and  respect  which  are  due  to 
myself,  as  a  peer  of  the  realm  and  the  representative  of  his 
majesty !  I  pass  over  this  occasion,  sir,  and  trust  that  you 
will  perceive  the  necessity  of  not  holding  arguments  with 
me  in  future,  especially  in  the  presence  of  my  family." 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN.   GENTLEMAN.  35 

• 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  argue  with  your  lordship  ;  you  ques 
tioned  me — I  replied,"  said  the  young  man,  with  internal 
rage,  but  outwardly  as  cold  as  ice.  "  If  any  thing  which  I 
have  said,  has  wounded  the  feelings  of  your  lordship's 
family,  I  most  humbly  pray  them  to  pardon  me." 

"  Enough,  sir,"  returned  the  Governor,  in  no  degree  mol 
lified,  if  any  thing,  more  haughtily  than  before ;  "  the  Coun 
tess  of  Dunmore  and  my  daughters  are  not  accustomed  to 
have  their  feelings  wounded  by  everybody ;  you  may  be  at 
rest  upon  that  scoreA  sir.  Now  let  this  conversation  end." 

"I  ask  nothing  more!"  replied  Mr.  St.  John,  flushing 
with  anger  and  disdain  at  the  tone  of  the  Governor. 

"  I  will  see  that  this  young  person  is  conveyed  home — if 
the  man  Waters  does  not  conceal  his  abode — but  I  certainly 
shall  not  send  my  chariot  and  servants  to  the  house  of  a 
traitor !" 

"  Your  Excellency  need  put  yourself  to  no  trouble — my 
own  carriage  is  at  hand,  and  I  take  charge  of  the  child." 

"Do  so,  sir ;  and  permit  me  to  congratulate  you  upon 
making  the  friendly  acquaintance  of  a  treason-monger !  It 
is  quite  in  character  to  allow  his  helpless  daughter  to  wan 
der  about  unprotected.  A  traitor  makes  a  heartless  father, 
and  a  bad  man." 

Before  Mr.  St.  John  could  speak,  another  voice  was  heard 
— it  was  Blossom's.  The  child  had  listened  with  pale 
cheeks,  and  a  frightened  look,  to  the  fiery  colloquy,  and 
had  not  dared  to  open  her  lips.  But  now  her  father  was 
insulted  more  grossly  than  before ;  his  very  afiection  for  her 
was  called  in  question  ;  the  little  heart  boiled  over  with  pain 
and  anguish ;  and  clasping  her  hands  Blossom  cried : 

"Oh  no,  sir!  indeed,  indeed  papa 'snot  bad!  He  loves 
me  dearly,  and  he  did  n't  know  I  came,  sir." 

"  Enough  of  your  childish  twaddle  !"  said  Dunmore  con 
temptuously.  "  I  'm  not  here  to  be  wearied  by  it.  I  '11 
make  your  rebel  father  whine,  too,  before  I  have  done 
with  him !" 

"  Oh  me  !"  sobbed  Blossom,  "  please  let  me  go,  sir ! 


36  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

I  do  not  feel  well.  I  ought  not  to  stay  and  hear  papa 
abused." 

"  Go,  then !" 

Blossom  rose  quickly,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  and  turned  to 
ward  the  door.  But  again  her  strength  failed  her ;  she 
turned  deadly  pale  as  her  bruised  foot  touched  the  carpet, 
and  fell  back  sobbing. 

The  arms  of  Mr.  St.  John  received  her,  and  thus  standing, 
with  pale  face  and  fiery  eyes  bent  on  the  Governor,  his  in 
dignation  and  disdain  were  imperial. 

He  would  have  spoken,  but  his  pale  lips  refused  their 
office.  With  a  single  look  of  defiance  at  his  Excellency,  the 
young  man  raised  the  form  of  the  child  completely  in  his 
arms,  and  left  the  apartment  and  the  palace. 

He  passed  rapidly  with  the  sobbing  girl  along  the  graveled 
walk  beneath  the  lindens,  and  issued  from  the  great  gate. 
Without  pausing,  he  strode  along  Gloucester  street,  fol 
lowed  by  wondering  eyes,  and  soon  reached  the  Raleigh 
Tavern. 

In  fifteen  minutes  a  handsome  chariot,  with  four  splendid 
bay  horses,  stood  before  the  door,  and  Mr.  St.  John  deposited 
the  child  in  the  vehicle.  Her  delicate  form  sunk  into  the 
luxurious  velvet  seat  as  into  a  bed  of  down,  and  Mr.  St. 
John  took  his  place  by  her  side.  He  then  gave  an  order  to 
the  negro  driver,  and  the  chariot  proceeded  slowly  out  of 
the  town  in  a  westerly  direction. 

The  young  man  had  made  but  one  allusion  to  the  scene 
at  the  palace  ;  uttered  but  one  word ;  that  word  was — 

"  Vulgarian !" 

It  was  Mr.  St.  John's  honest  opinion  of  his  Excellency 
Lord  Dunmore. 

The  evening  was  a  lovely  one,  and  the  sun  had  sunk  be 
yond  the  belt  of  forests,  leaving  the  sky  rosy  and  brilliant, 
and  swimming  in  a  gentle  mist.  The  birds  sang  merrily, 
and  the  woodland  road  unwound  itself  like  a  ribbon  before 
them  as  they  penetrated  into  the  leafy  depths  of  the  for 
est. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  37 

The  anger  and  disdain  of  Mr.  St.  John  slowly  disappeared, 
and  he  seemed  to  enjoy  the  freshness  and  innocence  of  his 
little  companion.  At  last  they  reached  Blossom's  abode. 
It  was  a  small  cottage,  fronting  south,  and  had  about  it  an 
air  of  home  comfort  which  was  very  attractive.  The  tender 
foliage  of  May  appeared  to  wreathe  the  small  portico,  the 
drooping  eaves,  and  even  the  old  chimneys ;  and  a  thousand 
flowers,  chiefly  early  roses,  studded  the  diminutive  lawn, 
and  filled  the  warm  air  of  evening  with  their  fragrance. 

Blossom  had  indeed  told  her  companion  that  the  cottage 
was  called  "  Roseland,"  and  the  name  was  perfectly  appro 
priate. 

On  the  threshold  was  no  less  a  personage  than  Mr.  Paul, 
in  an  attitude  of  profound  despair.  He  had  just  returned 
to  the  cottage,  hoping  to  find  his  companion,  from  whom  he 
had  been  separated  in  the  crowd,  and  not  finding  her  was 
about  to  go  back  to  the  town,  he  declared,  and  find  her  or 
perish  in  the  attempt.  That  was  happily  unnecessary,  St. 
John  said,  with  a  smile ;  and  so,  with  mutual  good  will,  the 
young  man  and  the  children  parted. 

St.  John  returned  in  his  chariot  to  Williamsburg. 

The  town  was  brilliantly  illuminated.  From  every  win 
dow  along  the  main  thoroughfare  lights  blazed  in  honor  of 
his  Excellency  and  his  family.*  The  crowd  of  revelers  was 
greater  than  ever,  and  the  palace  of  the  Governor  was  one 
mass  of  light — more  especially  the  great  drawing-room, 
where,  under  the  globe  lamps,  and  fronting  the  portraits  of 
the  king  and  queen,  the  amiable  countess,  supported  by 
her  daughters,  received  the  congratulations  of  the  gentry 
of  the  colony  upon  her  reunion  with  his  Excellency. 

Dismissing  his  chariot,  Mr.  St.  John  went  and  gazed  for 
some  moments  at  the  brilliant  front  of  the  palace. 

"  The  silly  masquei-ade  may  go  on  its  way  without  my 
assistance,"  he  muttered,  coldly.  "I'll  not  go  there  and 
bow  and  simper  when  his  lordship 's  put  a  slight  on  me — 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  III. 


38  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

insulted  me !  Hang  him !  let  the  rest  pay  him  their  re 
spects — I  won't,  and  there  's  an  end  on 't." 

With  these  words  Mr.  St.  John  retraced  his  steps  to  the 
Raleigh  Tavern,  and  sitting  down,  demanded  a  bottle  of 
wine  and  some  biscuits. 

Having  finished  his  repast,  he  went  out,  passed  down 
Gloucester  street,  and  entered  a  house,  whose  second  floor 
he  occupied.  Throwing  himself  upon  a  lounge,  he  tossed  his 
hat  and  sword  on  the  floor,  and  looked  through  the  window. 

"  I  'm  the  only  one  who  do  n't  illuminate,"  he  said.  "  Well, 
so  let  it  be." 

And  leaning  back,  he  closed  his  eyes — meditated,  and 
from  meditation  glided  into  sleep. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  GREAT  GRANDSON  OF  POCAHONTAS. 

HENRY  ST.  JOHN  was  the  only  son  of  Colonel  John  St. 
John,  of  "  Flower  of  Hundreds,"  in  the  county  of  Prince 
George.  This  John  was  himself  the  only  son  of  Henry 
St.  John,  Esquire,  called  "  King  Harry,"  who  having  run 
through  a  fine  estate  in  Hertfordshire,  England,  came  to 
Virginia  about  the  time  of  Bacon's  rebellion,  in  which  he 
took  part  against  the  government,  but,  by  good  luck,  es 
caped  with  the  payment  of  a  heavy  fine.  He  married,  the 
second  time — his  first  wife,  who  was  a  Miss  Pendleton,  hav 
ing  died  without  issue — Miss  Virginia  Rolfe,  daughter  of 
Thomas  Rolfe,  Esquire,  the  only  son  of  Pocahontas,  daughter 
of  Powhatan,  King  of  Virginia,  whose  empire  stretched  from 
Florida  to  the  great  lakes,  and  from  the  Atlantic  to  the 
Mississippi. 

The  Mr.  Henry  St.  John  of  our  narrative  was,  therefore, 
the  lineal  descendant  of  Pocahontas. 

We  have  little  genius  or  fondness  for  the  details  of  pedi- 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  39 

gree,  but  surely 't  is  a  source  of  noble  pride  to  be  descended 
from  our  dear  Virginia  maiden.  Royalty  and  nobility  are 
but  vulgar  things,  and  the  boast  of  Norman  blood  is  but 
the  child's  fondness  for  the  rattle  of  a  toy.  The  grace  of 
the  fashion  of  it  perisheth — its  glorious  beauty  is  a  fading 
flower — only  the  shadow  of  a  shadow  stays.  It  is  different 
in  the  case  of  the  descendants  of  our  little  queen  of  the 
West.  Her  patent  of  nobility  was  won  beneath  the  war 
club  raised  above  the  head  of  a  poor  captive ;  her  royalty 
was  the  royalty  of  a  noble  heart,  of  a  great  and  pure  devo 
tion  to  the  cause  of  love  and  mercy. 

So  writes  the  good  author  of  these  manuscripts.  Let  us 
pass,  however,  to  the  young  gentleman  who  had  in  his  veins 
the  blood  of  this  new  Indian  royalty. 

As  he  sleeps,  in  the  flood  of  light  from  the  tall  silver  can 
dlesticks,  it  is  not  difficult  to  fancy,  from  the  wild  grace  of 
his  attitude,  and  the  character  of  his  face,  that  something  of 
his  origin  reveals  itself. 

The  face  is  a  handsome  one,  with  a  clear  brown  tint,  al 
most  that  of  a  brunette,  and  the  hair  is  dark  and  waving. 
The  rounded  and  prominent  chin  indicates  resolution,  and 
the  curve  of  the  lips,  which  possess  great  mobility,  as  plainly 
show  that  the  young  man  is  subject  to  strong  passions.  In 
the  scene  with  the  Governor  we  have  observed  the  quick 
shades  of  anger  and  resentment  only ;  but  now  this  has  quite 
disappeared,  and,  sleeping  like  a  placid  infant,  all  the  fea 
tures  of  the  face  have  subsided  into  softness  and  repose.  In 
his  dreams  the  young  man  smiles,  and  the  smile  is  one  of 
great  sweetness. 

Leaving  to  the  course  of  the  narrative  any  further  indi 
cations  of  Mr.  Henry  St.  John's  peculiarities,  we  proceed 
to  relate  that,  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  he  was  waked  by  a 
knock  at  the  door,  which  was  followed  by  the  entrance  of  a 
young  man  clad  in  the  height  of  the  fashion.  Indeed,  it 
might  almost  be  said  that  this  young  gentleman's  costume 
was  one  mass  of  lace  and  embroidery.  The  drop  curls  of 
his  flaxen  peruke  were  glossy  with  perfumed  powder,  a 


40  HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

little  dress  sword  just  lifted  up  the  skirt  of  his  richly  deco 
rated  pourpoint  of  Mecklenburg  silk,  and  his  aristocratic 
hands  were  covered  with  the  finest  point  de  Venise.  Mr. 
Tom  Alston — for  that  was  the  name  of  the  worthy — pre 
sented  a  mixture  of  the  fop  and  the  philosopher  in  his  dress 
and  manner,  and  seemed  to  have  stepped  carelessly  from  the 
frame  of  one  of  Vandyke's  pictures. 

He  extended  two  fingers  to  his  friend  and  sat  down. 

"  Not  sleeping,  Harry,  my  boy  ?"  he  said.  "  Why  not  at 
the  Governor's  ?" 

"  I  preferred  staying  away.     Did  you  go  ?" 

"  Yes — a  crowd  of  nice  girls,  and  refreshments  of  a  pleas 
ing  description." 

"  Very  well — but  I  do  n't  regret  my  absence,"  said  Mr. 
St.  John  ;  "  the  fact  is,  Tom,  I  'm  tired  of  his  lordship,  and 
think  I'll  resign  my  commission.  I  'm  no  man's  servant,  and 
I  won't  be  his  Excellency's." 

"  Eh  ?     His  servant  ?» 

"  Yes.  I  am  absolutely  nothing  more.  There,  let  us  leave 
the  subject,  or  I  'm  sure  to  burst  forth  into  useless  expletives.'5 

"  Expletives  ?"  said  Mr.  Alston,  tranquilly.  "  Come,  tell 
me  all  about  it.  I  see  that  something  has  occurred,  and 
I  'm  really  dying  to  hear  a  bit  of  scandal — absolutely  none 
for  a  whole  week.  Do  proceed,  Harry,  my  boy,  and  narrate 
from  the  beginning,  with  all  the  orations,  like  that  tiresome 
old  Thucydides." 

Mr.  St.  John  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  said  : 

"  I  do  n't  care  if  I  do,  Tom.  I  feel  as  if  the  historic  muse 
would  come  at  my  call,  and  I  '11  try  her.  Well,  here  goes, 
but  you  are  not  to  yawn  at  my  apologue." 

"By  no  means,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  with  an  air  of  reproach. 
"  Proceed,  my  friend." 

"  Well,  you  must  know  that  there  formerly  resided  in  a 
country  called  Virginia  a  young  man  called  Harry  St.  John. 
You  understand  so  far  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  this  young  man,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  lose 


HENRY    ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  41 

his  parents  in  his  childhood,  was  sole  heir  to  an  estate  called 
the  '  Flower  of  Hundreds,'  upon  which  estate  there  was  a 
big  old  house,  full  of  deer  antlers,  fine  furniture,  tall  mirrors, 
portraits  of  old  fellows  in  periwigs,  and  dames  in  odd-look 
ing  dresses ;  and  in  the  stables  were  as  fine  a  collection  of 
thorough-breds,  't  was  said,  as  any  in  the  colony.  Every 
thing  else  was  ample  and  comfortable,  and  it  was  reasonable 
for  the  youngster  to  expect  a  life  of  ease  and  satisfaction — 
was  it  not  ?  He  might  marry  his  cousin,  grow  fat,  preside 
at  the  county  court,  and  be  a  respectable  vestryman  of  the 
parish.  There  were  plenty  of  foxes  on  his  lands,  and  a  quar 
relsome  neighbor  near  at  hand,  with  whom  he  might,  at  any 
moment,  plunge  into  a  good  comfortable  lawsuit.  In  a  single 
word,  all  the  elements  of  human  happiness  were  at  the  young 
fellow's  disposal,  and  he  had  only  to  '  enter  and  enjoy,'  as 
the  lawyers  say." 

"  He  was  a  lucky  fellow,  my  boy.  I  should  like  to  know 
him,"  said  Mr.  Alston. 

"As  to  the  luck,  there's  the  question,"  continued  Mr.  St. 
John,  "  for  nature  had  put  a  nail  in  the  young  man's  shoe — 
restlessness.  He  longed  for  something  more  exciting  than 
plantation  life.  Having  left  college,  he  came  into  his  prop 
erty,  carefully  administered  by  his  excellent  uncle,  Colonel 
Vane ;  but  very  soon  he  began  to  grow  dissatisfied.  You 
see,  the  couches  were  too  soft,  the  beds  were  too  large,  the 
wines  were  too  good,  and  the  fields  which  stretched  far  away 
to  the  horizon  from  the  portico  of  the  old  hall,  were  de 
ficient  in  rugged  beauty  and  picturesqueness,  such  as  the 
mountains  yield.  In  a  word,  the  youthful  heir  was  tired  of 
the  insipidity  of  farm  life,  and  longed  for  something  like 
adventure,  having  a  private  impression  of  his  own  that  the 
clash  of  swords  and  the  whistling  of  bullets  would  make 
merrier  music  than  the  winds  in  the  trees,  or  the  waves  lap 
ping  on  the  banks  of  the  river." 

"Odd,"  observed  Mr.  Alston,  "but  I  think  I  under 
stand." 

"Well,"  proceeded   Mr.  St.  John,  "this  young  fellow 


42  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

struggled  with  his  passion  for  two  or  three  years,  but  at  the 
end  of  that  time  his  predilection  got  the  better  of  him.  A 
nobleman  came  to  be  Governor  of  the  country  he  lived  in 
a  vulgar  fellow  named  Dunmore." 

"Oh!  a  vulgar  fellow  do  you  say?  But  proceed,  my 
friend." 

"  You  '11  see  before  I  end,  if  I  am  wrong  in  my  character 
ization,  Tom,"  continued  Mr.  St.  John.  "  Well,  as  I  said, 
this  man,  Dunmore,  came  to  the  country  in  question,  called 
Virginia,  and  a  great  talk  was  made  about  his  excellence 
and  greatness.  He  professed  to  be  most  solicitous  about 
Virginia,  and  turned  his  attention  especially  to  repelling  the 
attacks  of  savages  upon  the  western  frontier.  He  said  he 
wished  the  inhabitants  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness  to 
march  under  his  command,  and  as  a  proof  of  his  intention 
to  act  vigorously,  he  brought  with  him  some  foreign  sol 
diers,  who  would  serve  as  a  nucleus  for  the  proposed  forces. 
Exception  was,  however,  taken  by  some  persons  to  the 
presence  of  this  body  of  men,  and  in  order  to  allay  the  dis 
quiet,  his  Excellency  sought  for  a  Virginian  who  should  be 
placed,  as  it  were,  in  their  front  rank,  to  disarm  this  senti 
ment.  Here  commenced  the  connection  of  Mr.  St.  John 
with  his  Excellency.  Introduced  to  him  as  one  of  the  large 
landed  proprietors  of  the  colony,  his  Excellency  treated  him 
with  much  politeness,  and  finally  requested  private  inter 
views.  Would  Mr.  St.  John  accept  the  commission  of 
lieutenant,  commanding,  for  the  present,  this  nucleus? — 
they  would  ere  long  march  to  the  frontier,  and  much  glory 
would  ensue.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

His  friend  nodded. 

"  The  aforesaid  Mr.  St.  John  was  then  twenty-three  or 
so,  and  had  greater  thirst  for  adventure  than  ever.  Would 
he  accept  ?  Yes,  most  willingly.  No  sooner  said  than  done. 
He  leaves  his  estate,  comes  to  the  capital,  establishes  himself 
therein  as  becomes  a  soldier,  and  gloriously  parades  on  horse 
back,  in  fine  uniform,  at  the  head  of  his  troops.  He  enters 
into  military  afiairs  with  ardor  and  enthusiasm — he  trains 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  43 

his  men  in  quick  evolutions,  in  bush  fighting,  in  rapid  dis 
charge  of  pistols,  and  in  approved  cut  and  thrust  with  the 
saher.  He  sees  that  their  arms  are  as  brilliant  as  silver ; 
their  uniform  and  entire  equipments  perfect.  He  calls  on 
his  Excellency  every  day  to  inquire  for  news  from  the  fron 
tier,  and  receiving  comforting  answers,  goes  away  twirling 
his  mustaches,  his  sword  clanking  against  his  boots,  his  head 
full  of  martial  glory,  and  conscious  of  the  admiration  of 
every  urchin  who  beholds  him." 

"  Of  none  of  the  girls — eh,  my  boy  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Al 
ston. 

"  Doubtless,  for  you  know  the  gentler  sex  admire  the  sol 
dier,  at  least  some  of  them.  But  to  proceed.  The  young 
man,  you  see,  is  ready,  impatient ;  but  somehow  the  order 
to  march  is  delayed,  his  Excellency's  excuses  are  repeated, 
the  young  fellow's  assiduity  finally  seems  distasteful.  More 
over,  the  troops  he  commands  seem  permanently  stationed 
in  guard  houses,  flanking  his  lordship's  gate — they  attend 
solely  on  his  lordship's  person — they  ride  behind  his  coach, 
and  are  called  by  him,  "  My  Guards."  His  lordship  is  a 
king,  the  young  lieutenant  a  satrap  of  the  provinces,  and, 
contrary  to  the  habit  of  Virginians,  he  has  become  an  upper 
servant.  Can  you  wonder  that  the  result  is  distaste  upon 
his  part ;  that  he  begins  to  think  his  Excellency  insincere  ? 
He  finally  concludes  that  he  is  tricked,  and  it  is  just  at  this 
moment  that  he  receives  orders  to  marshal  "  My  Guards," 
and  go  and  receive  the  royal  family  on  their  entrance,  which 
event  occurred  this  morning.  Well,  he  obeyed.  They  were 
ladies,  and  he  was  far  from  objecting  to  take  part  in  the 
pageantry.  But  he  found  in  this  cortege  other  characters 
— lords,  honorables,  captains,  drivers,  footmen,  outriders — 
it  was  his  place  to  escort  them  all.  He  did  do  it.  He 
mounted  guard  at  the  palace  gate  even,  to  keep  the  ill-bred 
Virginians  at  their  proper  distance.  He  succeeded.  Well, 
now  for  the  conclusion.  The  young  soldier  rode  a  spirited 
horse ;  the  music  of  a  band  annoyed  him,  the  animal  became 
restive,  and  the  result  was  the  overthrow  of  a  child,  who 


44  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

rolled  beneath  his  feet,  and,  when  the  young  man  raised 
her,  fainted  away.  He  went  to  the  nearest  point  for  some 
cold  water,  procured  it  in  the  palace,  and  for  presuming  to 
so  intrude  was  insulted  by  his  Excellency.  You  see  his 
lordship  was  an  English  nobleman,  and  the  young  man  was 
only  a  Virginia  gentleman.  Not  only  the  young  man  him 
self  was  outraged,  but  the  child  who  accompanied  him  was 
grossly  insulted  and  wounded  !  and  Mr.  Lieutenant  St.  John 
was  requested  to  retire  and  make  way  for  his  betters !  Curse 
me !  if  the  man's  one  particle  of  a  gentleman,  and  I'll  throw 
his  commission  back  in  his  face !"  cried  St.  John,  flushing, 
and  thus  breaking  forth  with  long-gathering  indignation. 

Mr.  Alston  was  silent  for  some  moments,  apparently  mus 
ing  tranquilly  upon  the  history  to  which  he  had  just  listened. 
At  last  he  said  : 

"  Throw  it  back,  Harry !  what's  the  use  ?  Do  n't  take  the 
trouble — rather  come  with  me  to  my  house  of  '  Moorefield,' 
where  I  will  try  and  entertain  you,  though  this  peruke  from 
Mr.  George  Lafong's,  who  calls  himself  a  wigmaker,  is 
making  me  silent  and  melancholy.  Come,  Harry,  my  boy, 
come  with  me." 

"No,  Tom,"  said  his  friend,  "I'll  tell  his  lordship  my 
candid  opinion  of  him,  if  he  arrests  me  the  next  moment. 
Hang  him  !  he  sha'n't  tread  on  me,  if  he  is  a  tyrant !" 

And  Mr.  St.  John  scowled  in  imagination  at  Lord  Dun- 
more,  with  a  sincerity  that  was  very  striking. 

"  You  won't  go  to  Moorefield  ?"  said  Mr.  Alston,  smiling ; 
"  but  that's  just  the  way  you  always  treat  me.  May  I  make 
a  second  suggestion,  however,  Harry  ?  Go  to — Vanely." 

Mr.  St.  John  turned  his  head  quickly,  and  looked  at  his 
friend.  As  he  encountered  Mr.  Alston's  eyes  and  smile, 
something  almost  like  a  blush  diifused  itself  over  his  cheek. 

"Ah!  ah!"  said  Mr.  Alston,  laughing,  "there's  a  fine 
historian !  You  make  a  splendid  historic  narrative,  and  you 
leave  out  the  most  striking  event  in  the  life  of  your  hero ! 
You  carefully  forget  to  mention  that  this  Virginia  Achilles 
had  a  Briseis — this  Hector  of  Prince  George  county,  a  pros- 


HENKY   ST.    JOHN,    GEOTLEMAH.  45 

pective  Andromache — and  that  the  nodding  plume  of  war 
was  put  on  to  flash  in  the  eyes  of  somebody !" 

Mr.  St.  John  blushed  unmistakably  this  time,  and  then 
burst  out  laughing. 

"  Well  if  I  did,  Tom,"  he  said,  "  what 's  the  odds  ?  She 's 
the  loveliest  girl  in  the  colony." 

"  Perhaps  !     But  why  not  go  and  try  your  luck,  then  ?" 

Mr.  St.  John  sighed. 

"  I  'm  afraid  it 's  no  use,"  he  said ;  "  she  loves  me,  but  un 
fortunately  she's  not  in  love  with  me." 

"A  profoundly  philosophical  distinction;  but  did  you 
never  hear  the  Spanish  proverb,  '  Patience,  and  shuffle  the 
cards  ?'  N"ow  the  cards  are  at  '  Vanely ;'  leave  this  abode  of 
royalty  with  me,  forget  his  Excellency,  and  go  see  Dulcinea." 

Mr.  St.  John  pondered,  and  from  the  varying  color  of  his 
tell-tale  cheek,  it  was  plain  what  he  was  thinking  of. 

"  Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "1  '11  do  so,  Tom.  I  '11  follow  the 
advice  scratched  on  the  wall  yonder,  with  the  odd  name,  Sir 
Asinus  to  it — ''The  duty  of  a  subject  is  submission.'  Yes, 
I  '11  leave  this  wretched  mimic  court,  and  go  to  Vanely,  pro 
vided  you  stay  all  night  and  go  with  me." 

"Done,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  "and  now  let  us  have  a  game 
of  tric-trac." 

"  Willingly,"  Mr.  St.  John  replied,  "  and  my  first  stake 
shall  be  these  tawdry  epaulets  of  gold  thread  against  six 
pence — the  value  I  attach  to  them  !" 

Cards  and  wine  were  quickly  brought  by  a  servant  in 
waiting,  and  the  young  men  commenced  playing. 

Two  hours  afterwards  they  were  sound  asleep,  and  an 
attentive  listener  might  have  heard  the  lieutenant  of  his  Ex 
cellency's  guards  murmur  the  name  of  a  woman  of  whom 
he  seemed  to  be  dreaming. 


46  HKNET   ST.   JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER   VII. 

CONSPIRACY. 

WE  have  glanced  at  the  scenes  of  the  day  on  which,  amid 
the  glare  of  sunlight,  and  the  noisy  plaudits  of  the  crowd, 
the  Countess  of  Dunmore  entered  grandly  the  old  capital. 

We  shall  now  pass  to  the  night  world ;  to  a  few  scenes 
which  concealed  themselves  beneath  the  silence  and  gloom. 

The  lights  in  the  city  of  Williamsburg  had  one  by  one 
disappeared,  as  lord  and  lady,  noble  and  commoner  sought 
their  pillows  ;  all  the  noises  of  evening  and  night  had  long 
since  died  away,  and  a  gloomy  silence,  only  interrupted  from 
time  to  time  by  the  low  muttering  of  distant  thunder, 
reigned  over  the  ancient  town. 

There  was  one  exception,  however,  to  this  total  darkness. 
From  the  lofty  window  of  a  tall  mansion  which  rose  like  an 
attenuated  ghost  above  the  surrounding  roofs,  a  faint  glim 
mer,  like  a  star,  just  dispelled  the  gloom,  and  even  this  much 
light  seemed  to  escape  by  accident  through  the  chinks  of 
the  carefully  closed  oaken  shutters. 

Let  us  ascend  the  precipitous  and  winding  stair-way  of 
the  half-deserted  mansion,  and  opening  the  door  of  the  turret- 
like  chamber,  endeavor  to  discover  what  business  is  thus 
being  transacted  under  the  jealous  vail  of  silence  and  dark 
ness. 

The  apartment  is  destitute  of  all  ornament,  the  furniture 
consisting  only  of  a  long  table,  a  few  rough  chairs,  and  some 
shelves  filled  with  old  volumes  and  papers.  It  has  two  oc 
cupants.  The  first  is  a  rough-looking  man,  covered  with 
dust  like  a  courier  after  a  long  journey,  who  is  slumbering 
heavily  upon  a  bear  skin  thrown  down  in  one  corner.  The 
other  inmate  of  the  room  sits  at  the  table  writing  rapidly — 
two  loaded  pistols  lying  within  reach  of  his  hand. 

He  is  a  man  of  middle  age,  clad  in  a  suit  of  dark  cloth, 
aifording  no  indication,  of  his  character  or  station.  In  the 


HENKY   ST.    JOHN,  GENTLEMAN".  47 

face  and  form  of  this  person,  however,  there  is  more  to  at 
tract  attention. 

The  countenance  of  the  stranger  is  one  of  those  which, 
once  seen,  haunts  the  memory.  He  has  not  passed  middle 
age,  apparently,  but  the  thin  brown  locks  around  his  broad 
forehead  are  sprinkled  with  gray  ;  labor  or  care  has  furrowed 
deep  lines  from  temple  to  temple,  and  a  slight  stoop  in  the 
neck  communicates  to  the  general  carriage  that  air  of  intense 
meditation  which  characterizes  profound  thinkers,  or  those 
upon  whom  is  thrown  responsibility  of  the  most  critical 
character.  Covered  with  the  pallor  of  care  or  exhausting 
toil,  with  clear-cut  and  resolute  features,  eyes  burning  with 
a  gloomy  flame  beneath  bushy  brows,  and  lips  set  sternly 
with  an  expression  of  iron  will,  every  thing  in  the  face  of 
the  stranger  indicated  an  organization  of  the  largest  strength, 
and  an  intellectual  vigor  which  no  obstacle  could  daunt. 

His  thin  muscular  fingers  traversed  the  paper  for  an  hour 
without  pausing  scarcely,  and  then,  as  he  reached  the  end, 
the  stranger  laid  down  his  pen,  and  leaned  back  in  his 
leather  chair. 

"  Why,  I  grow  old  !"  he  murmured.  "  This  writing  for 
a  day  and  a  night  only,  begins  to  fatigue  me.  'T  is  no 
matter." 

And  without  further  words  he  set  about  folding  the  writ 
ten  sheets.  They  were  then  enveloped  in  stout  brown  pa 
per,  corded,  and  securely  waxed.  Upon  this  envelope  was 
written  simply — 

"  To  Mr.  Samuel  Adams, 

"  At  Boston,  in  the  Province  of 

"  Massachusetts." 

A  word  awoke  the  sleeper,  who  rose  quickly  and  stood 
at  the  stranger's  side.  Few  words  were  exchanged ;  the 
two  men  seemed  to  understand  each  other,  and  the  stranger 
gave  his  directions  in  a  brief  low  tone,  to  which  the  courier 
replied  by  a  slight  movement  of  the  head  only. 

"  This  to  the  town  of  Baltimore,"  said  the  stranger,  tak- 


48  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

ing  a  dispatch  similar  to  the  one  he  had  just  finished — "  you 
know  the  house.  This,  to  Philadelphia — guard  it  carefully. 
This,  to  the  port  of  New  York — as  quickly  as  possible. 
Have  you  enough  money  ?" 

The  courier  laid  his  leather  purse  on  the  table,  and  the 
stranger  examined  its  contents. 

"  'Tis  enough,  unless  your  horse  fails,  but  that  must  not 
happen.  Here  is  more  gold,  for  which  you  will  sign  a  re 
ceipt." 

The  receipt  was  written,  signed  by  the  courier,  and  de 
posited  in  a  drawer  with  a  number  of  others. 

"  Go  at  once  now,  and  proceed  cautiously  as  you  leave 
the  town.  The  patrol  is  abroad." 

"  Yes,  your  honor  ;  never  fear  me.  My  service  to  you, 
and  good  times  to  the  cause." 

The  stranger  returned  the  salute,  and  the  courier  disap 
peared.  In  a  few  moments  his  horse's  hoofs  were  heard  as 
he  cautiously  proceeded  along  Gloucester  street,  and  the 
stranger  who  watched  the  retreating  shadow  from  his  win 
dow,  drew  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction. 

"  Now  for  the  rest,"  he  said,  and  leaning  against  one  of 
the  panels  of  the  oaken  wainscot,  he  touched  the  spring  of 
a  secret  closet,  which  flew  open.  From  this  aperture  he 
took  a  bundle  of  letters,  which  he  placed  in  his  bosom.  He 
then  rapidly  returned  to  the  table,  secured  the  two  pistols 
in  his  belt,  and  throwing  a  cloak  over  his  shoulders,  put  out 
the  light,  and  descended  to  the  street. 

The  moon  was  just  rising  through  a  bank  of  threatening 
clouds,  which  at  one  moment  obscured  the  red  orb,  then 
swept  onward  and  permitted  the  full  light  to  shine.  No 
wayfarer  was  visible  upon  the  silent  and  deserted  street, 
and  an  expression  of  satisfaction  came  again  to  the  features 
of  the  stranger. 

He  wrapped  his  cloak  more  closely  around  him,  and  pass 
ing  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  houses,  stopped,  at  the  end 
of  ten  minutes,  before  a  low  building,  into  the  basement  or 
rather  cellar  of  which  he  descended  by  a  flight  of  precipit- 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  49 

ous  steps.  All  was  dark,  but  the  stranger  proceeded  with 
out  stopping  along  the  damp  passage  way,  and  struck  quickly 
thrice,  then,  after  a  pause,  once  again,  upon  an  iron-bound 
door.  A  boy  opened  the  door,  and  he  entered. 

Two  men  were  engaged  at  a  printing  table  striking  off, 
by  means  of  a  "  deer's  foot"  and  mallet,  copies  of  a  species 
of  circular.  Upon  one  end  of  the  table  lay  a  pile  of  these 
printed  sheets,  still  damp,  which  every  moment  received  a 
new  addition  from  the  cautious  labors  of  the  printers. 

A  masonic  movement  of  the  head  was  the  sole  recognition 
which  passed.  To  the  stranger's  brief  question  of  the  num 
ber  of  copies  printed,  the  reply  was,  "  two  hundred." 

"  That  is  enough  for  the  present  moment,"  he  said ;  "  fold 
them  securely." 

This  was  done  rapidly,  and  with  great  skill,  and  in  five 
minutes  the  stranger  stood  again  in  the  street.  He  pro 
ceeded,  as  cautiously  as  before,  on  his  return  to  the  building 
from  which  he  had  issued,  stopping  for  a  moment  in  the 
shadow  of  one  of  the  houses  to  let  two  of  the  Governor's 
guardsmen  in  uniform  go  by. 

They  passed  within  three  feet  of  the  silent  figure,  jesting 
roughly,  their  sabers  rattling  against  their  huge  horseman's 
boots.  The  figures  finally  disappeared  at  the  corner  of  Palace 
street,  and  the  solitary  man  hastened  onward,  keeping,  as 
before,  in  the  shadow. 

He  soon  reached  the  tall  house  from  which  he  had  dis 
patched  the  courier  to  the  northern  provinces,  and,  opening 
a  narrow  gate,  disappeared.  Behind  the  building,  in  the 
deep  shadow,  a  horse  awaited  him,  and,  mounting,  he  issued 
forth  and  proceeded  cautiously  in  a  westerly  direction,  keep 
ing  as  much  as  possible  in  the  darkness. 

He  reached  in  safety  the  last  house  of  the  town,  the  mut 
tering  over  head  nearly  drowning  the  noise  of  his  horse's 
hoofs,  and  was  about  to  issue  into  the  country,  when,  as  he 
came  opposite  the  door  of  this  house,  a  party  of  the  Gov 
ernor's  patrol,  who  had  been  drinking  in  the  ordinary,  chal 
lenged  him  and  commanded  him  to  halt.  The  stranger's 

3 


50  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

reply  was  the  spur  in  his  horse's  side,  which  made  the  animal 
bound  ten  feet. 

A  second  and  louder  challenge  was  instantly  followed  by 
the  quick  report  of  a  carbine,  and  a  ball  passed  through  the 
horseman's  cloak  between  his  side  and  his  bridle  hand. 
With  an  unconscious  movement  as  rapid  as  lightning  he 
drew  one  of  his  pistols,  cocked  it,  and  leveled  it,  with 
flashing  eyes,  at  his  assailants. 

He  did  not  discharge  it,  however ;  quickly  replacing  it  in 
his  belt,  he  muttered,  "Useless !"  and  put  spur  to  his  horse. 
Before  a  second  carbine  could  be  brought  to  the  shoulder, 
the  figures  of  the  stranger  and  his  flying  animal  had  disap 
peared  like  shadows  under  the  gloomy  foliage  of  the  great 
woods.  Without  checking  his  horse,  and  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  knows  the  road  as  well  by  night  as  by  day,  the 
stranger  went  on  rapidly,  penetrating  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  forest,  whose  heavy  boughs  moaned  in  the  wind. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour's  rapid  riding,  he  came  to  a 
sort  of  glade  in  the  woods,  and  as  he  emerged  from  the 
dense  shadow  the  moon  burst  forth  from  a  black  cloud,  and 
poured  a  flood  of  yellow  light  upon  the  open  space.  Be 
neath  a  huge  oak,  a  confused  mass  of  men  and  horses  re 
vealed  itself,  and  the  stranger  was  challenged  a  second  time. 

"  Good  !"  he  said  with  satisfaction  ;  "  you  are  watchful, 
friend.  Wake  your  comrades  ;  't  is  time  for  them  to  be  in 
the  saddle." 

In  five  minutes  as  many  men  were  mounted  and  awaiting 
silently  their  directions.  The  stranger  drew  from  his  breast 
the  package  which  he  had  taken  from  the  wainscotting. 

"  West  Augusta,"  he  said,  briefly. 

One  of  the  horsemen  silently  rode  up  and  took  the  dis 
patch  held  out  to  him. 

"  Frederick,"  continued  the  stranger. 

A  second  horseman  came  and  took  this  letter  as  the  other 
had  done.  In  the  same  manner  dispatches  addressed  "  Fair 
fax,"  "  Orange,"  "  Culpepper,"  "  Westmoreland,"  "  Bote- 
tourt,"  "Essex,"  "Lancaster,"  "Accomac,"  and  to  other  coun- 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  51 

ties,  were  delivered  in  turn,  one  courier  having  charge  of  all 
lying  upon  his  route.  The  entire  province  of  Virginia,  north 
of  the  James,  was  thus  apportioned  out  to  these  five  men,  who 
seemed  to  understand  perfectly  what  was  expected  of  them. 

"  Friends,"  said  the  stranger,  wrapping  his  cloak  around 
him  as  he  delivered  the  last  dispatch,  "  I  need  not  tell  you 
to  be  cautious  in  the  carriage  and  delivery  of  these  missives. 
You  know  their  importance,  and  every  day  the  times  grow 
more  dangerous,  the  encroachments  of  the  government  up 
on  private  rights  more  daring.  I  do  not  conceal  that  the 
dispatches  you  have  received  contain  treason.  Carry  them 
to  his  Excellency  Lord  Dunmore,  and  I  will  hang  on  Tower 
Hill,  if  I  'm  taken.  You  will  be  rewarded  richly,  friends. 
Enough  !  let  us  now  go  to  our  work !" 

And  making  a  salute  with  his  hand,  the  stranger  was  sa 
luted  in  turn  by  the  party  of  men,  who,  only  replying  by  an 
indistinct  murmur,  diverged  upon  their  various  routes.* 

The  solitary  horseman  retraced  rapidly  the  road  by  which 
he  had  come,  for  the  space  of  a  mile ;  then  taking  a  bridle 
path  to  the  left,  he  proceeded  more  slowly.  In  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  he  found  himself  in  front  of  a  small  cottage,  lost 
like  a  leaf  in  the  depths  of  the  woods.  On  its  roof  the  moon 
poured  a  silver  flood — the  storm  had  muttered  itself  away 
into  the  distance. 

He  dismounted,  opened  the  door  by  means  of  a  master- 
key,  and  taking  a  light  which  was  burning  upon  the  table, 
ascended  the  stair-case  to  his  chamber. 

Upon  a  chair  lay  a  valise,  ready  prepared  for  a  journey, 
and  as  the  eye  of  the  stranger  fell  upon  it,  his  brow  relaxed, 
and  an  expression  of  softness  which  his  features  seemed  in 
capable  of,  communicated  to  the  resolute  countenance  a  sin 
gular  attraction. 

Then  his  head  turned  unconsciously  as  it  were  toward  a 
door  leading  from  the  chamber  into  another,  apparently. 
This  door  he  cautiously  opened,  and  passed  through  into 
an  adjoining  room. 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  IV. 


52  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

It  was  the  chamber  of  a  girl,  full  of  little  feminine  orna 
ments,  and  filled,  if  we  may  so  speak,  with  an  atmosphere 
of  purity  and  innocence.  The  indefinable  grace  of  child 
hood  seemed  to  pervade  the  balmy  air,  half  illumined  by 
the  soaring  moon  which  poured  through  the  open  casement 
its  mellow  light,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  flood  of  radiance, 
a  child  was  sleeping  in  a  little  white  bed. 

It  was  a  girl  of  about  ten,  with  delicate  features,  long 
silken  lashes,  and  cheeks  tinted  with  faint  roses*  The  lips 
smiled  in  sleep,  and  possessed  great  sweetness  in  curve  and 
expression ;  the  hair  of  the  child  was  light  brown,  and  fell 
in  curls  upon  her  white  night-dress,  and  the  bare  arm  which 
supported  her  cheek.  The  fringed  counterpane  rose  and 
fell  gently  with  the  breathing  of  the  little  sleeper,  and  her 
forehead  was  bathed  in  the  faint  and  almost  imperceptible 
dews  of  slumber. 

As  he  gazed  at  the  young  creature,  the  brilliant  and  fiery 
eyes  of  the  stranger  softened  more  and  more,  his  stern 
features  relaxed,  he  murmured  softly,  "  my  little  Blossom !" 
and  bending  over  the  child,  he  pressed  upon  her  forehead  a 
kiss  of  indescribable  tenderness.  The  small  frame  seemed 
to  thrill  even  in  slumber,  and  the  lips  murmured  something, 
but  the  girl  did  not  awake.  The  stranger  knelt  at  the  bed 
side — remained  in  this  devout  attitude  for  a  long  time — then 
rising,  pressed  a  second  kiss  upon  the  child's  lips,  and  left  the 
apartment. 

He  made  a  few  preparations,  and  was  soon  in  the  saddle, 
riding  rapidly  in  a  southern  direction  through  the  moonlit 
forest.  As  he  went  on,  his  stern  features  resumed  their 
expression  of  austere  resolution — the  fire  of  his  eyes  returned 
— he  was  iron  again.  Again  his  dominant  idea  possessed 
him,  and  he  muttered  broken  words. 

"Yes!"  he  said  aloud  finally,  "at  last  I  think  the  strug 
gle  comes !  The  light  of  a  glorious  dawn  begins  to  touch 
the  gloomy  east !  The  iron  heel  is  almost  down  upon  the 
forehead,  and  henceforth  there  '11  be  no  appeal  to  the  miser 
able  justice  of  the  king.  The  true  King  of  kings,  the  God 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  53 

of  Battles  will  decide  !     O  Lord  of  Lords,  fight  for  us ! — 
make  us  free  !" 

The  head  raised  devoutly,  sank  again,  and  the  stranger 
rode  on  silently,  the  stillness  of  the  forest  only  broken  by 
the  noise  of  his  horse's  hoofs,  or  the  mournful  sobbing  of 
the  wind. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

V  A  N  E  L  Y  . 

EARLY  on  the  morning  after  their  colloquy,  Mr.  St.  John 
and  his  friend,  Tom  Alston,  had  left  Williamsburg  far  in  the 
distance,  crossed  the  river,  and  were  pursuing  their  way 
gayly  through  the  spring  forest,  in  the  direction  of  Vanely. 

Mr.  St.  John  had  thrown  aside  his  uniform,  and  wore  a 
simple  but  elegant  cavalier's  suit — a  coat  of  drab  silk,  pli 
able  knee  breeches  of  dressed  buckskin,  and  fair-topped 
boots,  fitting  closely  to  the  leg  and  ankle.  He  rode  his  fine 
sorrel  "  Tallyho,"  and  the  animal  champed  the  bit,  and  tossed 
his  handsome  head,  with  evident  satisfaction  at  the  breath 
of  his  native  air. 

Mr.  Tom  Alston  prefers  a  "sulky"  for  traveling — and 
mounted  in  the  circular  leather  chair,  high  above  the  wheels 
of  the  airy-looking  vehicle,  he  holds,  with  dainty  fingers 
clad  in  soft  gauntlets,  the  slender  "  ribbands,"  cutting  at 
butterflies  occasionally  for  amusement. 

The  simple  landscape  seems  entertainment  enough  for  Mr. 
St.  John.  He  looks  with  joyous  eyes  upon  the  smooth  road 
winding  along  beneath  the  budding  foliage  of  the  forest, 
and  his  impulsive  nature  fills  with  delight  as  he  inhales  the 
fresh  air  laden  with  the  perfume  of  leaves  and  flowers.  He 
is  no  longer  lieutenant  of  his  Excellency's  Body  Guards — 
only  Henry  St.  John.  He  laughs,  leans  idly  on  Tallyho's 
neck  and  talks  to  him,  follows  the  flight  of  a  hawk  across 
the  blue  sky  overhead,  or  bursts  into  snatches  of  song,  in 


54  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

opposition  to  the  oriole,  whose  joyous  carol  fills  the  wood 
with  music. 

The  young  men  passed  rapidly  through  the  green  forest, 
and  at  last,  as  they  mounted  a  slope,  Mr.  St.  John  extended 
his  hand  and  cried, 

"There's  Vanely!  See  how  it  shines  in  the  sun,  on  the 
hill  top !  The  oaks  are  huger  to  my  eyes,  and  the  sunshine 
brighter  there  !  Adieu,  Williamsburg !"  cried  the  young 
man,  rising  in  his  saddle,  "  and  welcome  Vanely !  I  think 
't  is  a  capital  exchange  !" 

And  putting  spur  to  his  horse,  Mr.  Harry  St.  John  set 
forward  at  full  gallop  again. 

"  I  think  I  know  what  makes  the  sun  shine  brighter,  my 
youngster,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  as  he  followed  rapidly ;  "  there 
are  two  violet-colored  eyes  there.  Well,  there  are  two  black 
orbs  as  handsome !" 

And  Mr.  Alston  indulged  in  a  private  and  confidential 
nod  to  himself.  Soon  afterwards  they  had  reached  the 
broad  esplanade  in  front  of  the  house. 

Vanely  was  one  of  those  old  mansions  whose  walls  still 
stand  in  Virginia,  the  eloquent  memorials  of  other  times,  and 
the  good  old  race  who  filled  the  past  days  with  so  many  fes 
tivals,  and  such  high  revelry. 

The  first  brick  of  the  edifice  had  been  laid  upon  the  lap 
of  a  baby  afterwards  known  as  Colonel  Vane,  and  passed 
through  his  tiny  fingers.  The  life  of  the  mansion  and  the 
owner  thus  commenced  together.  It  was  a  broad,  ramb 
ling  old  house,  perched  on  a  sort  of  upland  which  command 
ed  a  noble  landscape  of  field  and  river ;  and  in  front  of  the 
portal,  two  great  oaks  stretched  out  their  gigantic  arms, 
gnarled  and  ancient,  like  guardians  of  the  edifice.  In  these, 
as  in  the  hundred  others,  scattered  over  the  undulating 
'lawn,  and  crowning  every  knoll,  a  thousand  birds  were 
caroling,  and  a  swarm  of  swallows  darted  backward  and 
forward,  circling  around  the  stacks  of  chimneys,  and  making 
the  air  vocal  with  their  merriment. 

There  was  about  the  odd  old  mansion  an  indefinable  air 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  55 

of  comfort  and  repose,  and  within,  these  characteristics 
were  equally  discernible.  The  old  portraits  ranged  along 
the  hall  in  oaken  frames,  looked  serenely  down  upon  the 
beholder,  and  with  powdered  heads,  and  lace  rufls,  and 
carefully  arranged  drapery,  seemed  to  extend  a  stately  and 
impressive  welcome.  Sir  Arthur  Vane,  who  fought  for  a 
much  less  worthy  man  at  Marston  Moor,  was  there,  with 
his  flowing  locks,  and  peaked  head,  and  wide  collar  of  rich 
Venice  lace,  covering  his  broad  shoulders ; — and  Miss  Maria 
Vane,  with  towering  curls,  and  jewel-decorated  fingers, 
playing  with  her  lap-dog,  smiling  meanwhile  with  that  win 
ning  grace  which  made  her  a  toast  in  the  days  of  her  kins 
man  Bolingbroke,  and  Mr.  Addison ; — and  more  than  one 
tender  and  delicate  child,  like  violets  or  snow-drops,  in 
the  midst  of  these  sturdy  family  trunks,  or  blooming  roses, 
added  a  finishing  grace  to  the  old  walls — that  grace  which 
nothing  but  the  forms  of  children  ever  give.  Deer  antlers, 
guns,  an  old  sword  or  two,  and  a  dozen  London  prints  of 
famous  race-horses,  completed  the  adornment  of  the  hall ; 
and  from  this  wide  space,  the  plain  oaken  stairway  ran  up, 
and  the  various  doors  opened  to  the  apartments  on  the 
ground  floor  of  the  mansion. 

On  the  May  morning  we  have  spoken  of,  the  old  house 
was  in  its  glory;  for  the  trees  were  covering  themselves 
densely  with  fresh  green  foliage,  and  the  grounds  were  car 
peted  with  emerald  grass,  studded  with  flowers,  waving  their 
delicate  heads,  and  murmuring  gently  in  the  soft  spring 
breeze,  and  the  golden  sunshine.  The  oriole  swung  from 
the  topmost  boughs,  and  poured  his  flood  of  song  upon  the 
air ;  the  woodpecker's  bright  wings  flapped  from  tree  to 
tree ;  and  a  multitude  of  swamp-sparrows  flashed  in  and 
out  of  the  foliage  and  fruit  blossoms,  or  circled  joyously 
around  the  snowy  fringe-trees  sparkling  in  the  sunshine. 
From  the  distant  fields  and  forests  the  monotonous  caw  of 
the  crows,  winging  their  slow  way  through  the  blue  sky, 
indicated  even  on  the  part  of  these  ancient  enemies  of  the 
cornfield,  joyous  satisfaction  at  the  incoming  of  the  warm 


56  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

season  after  the  long  winter ;  and  a  thousand  merry  robins 
flew  about,  with  red  breasts  shaken  by  melodious  chirpings, 
and  brilliant  plumage  burnished  by  the  sunlight. 

Every  thing  was  bright  with  the  youthful  joy  of  spring, 
and  as  Mr.  St.  John  and  his  friend  dismounted  before  the 
old  mansion,  the  very  walls  upon  which  the  waving  shadows 
of  a  thousand  leaves  were  thrown  seemed  smiling,  and  pre 
pared  to  greet  them ;  the  open  portal  held  imaginary  arms 
of  welcome  to  them. 

Before  this  portal  stood, — its  old  form  basking  pleasantly 
in  the  sunshine, — the  roomy,  low-swung  family  chariot,  with 
its  four  long-tailed  grays,  as  ancient,  very  nearly,  as  itself, 
and  showing  by  their  well-conditioned  forms  and  glossy 
manes  the  results  of  tranquil,  easy  living.  By  their  side 
stood  the  old  white-haired  negro  driver,  time  out  of  mind 
the  family  coachman  of  the  Vanes ;  and  in  the  person  of  this 
worthy  African  gentleman  a  similar  mode  of  living  was  un 
mistakably  indicated.  Old  Cato  had  evidently  little  desire 
to  be  a  censor;  sure  of  his  own  high  position,  and  quite 
easy  on  the  subject  of  the  purity  of  the  family  blood,  he  was 
plainly  satisfied  with  his  lot,  and  had  no  desire  to  change  the 
order  of  things.  In  his  own  opinion  he  was  himself  one  of 
the  family — a  portion  of  the  manor,  a  character  of  respect 
ability  and  importance. 

Old  Cato  greeted  the  young  gentlemen  with  familiar  but 
respectful  courtesy,  and  received  their  cordial  shakes  of  the 
hand  with  evident  pleasure.  The  horses  even  seemed  to 
look  for  personal  greeting,  and  when  the  young  man  passed 
his  hand  over  their  necks,  they  turned  their  intelligent  heads 
and  whinnied  gently  in  token  of  recognition. 

Mr.  St.  John  patted  their  coats  familiarly,  and  called  them 
by  name,  and  looking  up  to  the  old  house  said,  smiling, 

"  Welcome,  Vanely !  The  month  I  've  been  away  seems 
a  whole  century.  After  all,  the  town  is  nothing  like  the 
country,  and  no  other  part  of  it 's  like  Vanely !" 


HENBY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  57 

CHAPTER    IX. 

BONNYBEL     VANE. 

THE  young  men  entered  the  familiar  old  hall  and  then 
passed  to  the  comfortable  sitting  room,  where  Tom  Alston 
subsided  languidly  into  an  easy  chair. 

"  Stay  here  till  I  return,  Tom,"  said  St.  John ;  "  I  'm  go 
ing  to  salute  my  respected  aunt,  and  will  announce  our  ar 
rival  to  anybody  else  I  see." 

"  Give  my  compliments  to  Miss  Anybody  Else,"  said 
Tom. 

But  his  friend  did  not  hear  him.  He  ran  out,  ascended 
the  broad  oaken  stair-case,  three  steps  at  a  time,  with  the 
gayety  of  a  boy,  and  threw  open  the  door  of  the  chamber 
immemoriably  the  haunt  of  good  Aunt  Mabel. 

The  consequence  was  a  collision  with  a  lovely  girl  who 
had  been  combing  her  hair,  apparently,  before  the  mirror, 
as  the  profuse  brown  curls  were  hanging  down  on  her  bare 
white  shoulders  and  silken  dress, — presenting  to  the  eyes 
of  Mr.  Harry  St.  John  a  mass  of  shadowy,  waving  gold, 
which  charmed  him. 

The  girl  no  sooner  caught  sight  of  the  young  man,  or  ra 
ther  found  their  faces  in  collision,  than  she  uttered  a  scream, 
and  crying  "  Good  gracious !  me  !"  quickly  retreated,  and 
slammed  the  door  in  his  face. 

St.  John  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  and  cried,  gayly, 

"  Let  me  in,  Bonny !" 

"  I  won't  !"  cried  the   girl's  voice  vivaciously,  accom 
panied  by  the  sound  of  a  key  hastily  turned  in  the  lock. 

Then  the  following  observations  ensued,  mingled  with 
laughter : 

"  I  think  you  might,  Bonny ;  I  want  to  see  aunt." 

"  She 's  not  here  !  there,  sir !" 

"  Why,  this  is  her  room." 

"  It  is  not !     Mamma  has  moved  down  stairs." 
'  ':      3* 


58  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

"  Oh !  she  lias !  But  I  want  to  see  you,  too.  I  think, 
after  being  away  so  long,  you  might  at  least  shake  hands." 

"  Shake  hands !  humph !"  said  the  girl's  voice,  very  ex 
pressively.  "  I  think  kissing  me  was  quite  enough,  sir !" 

"  Kissing  you !"  cried  St.  John,  with  well  affected  sur 
prise. 

"Yes  !  you  know  you  did,  and  it  was  just  like  your  pre 
sumption  !" 

"  You  astonish  me !  Did  I  kiss  you  ?  If  I  did  it  was 
wholly  accidental.  But  how  long  will  it  be  before  you  come 
down '?  Pray,  make  haste !" 

The  gii'l's  smothered  laughter  was  heard. 

"  You  do  n't  deserve  it,  you  odious  fellow !"  she  said,  af 
ter  a  pause ;  "  but  wait !  I  '11  open  in  a  minute." 

And  at  the  expiration  of  the  appointed  time,  the  key  was 
turned  in  the  lock,  and  Miss  Bonnybel  Vane,  for  that  was 
her  name,  opened  the  door.  She  had  hastily  arranged  her 
hair,  some  curls  of  which  were  still  falling  carelessly,  how 
ever,  on  the  bare  round  shoulders.  They  did  not  detract 
from  her  beauty. 

"  Where  in  the  world  did  you  come  from  ?"  she  said,  giv 
ing  him  her  hand.  "  You  frightened  me  nearly  to  death, 
sir,  and  you  dared  to  kiss  me  !" 

"  Did  I  ?     Well,  it  is  not  the  first  time." 

"  Humph  !"  as  before,  very  expressively. 

"  It  was  by  accident,"  said  St.  John,  laughing,  "  and  I  will 
make  you  as  many  apologies  as  you  wish,  to  say  nothing  of 
as  many  compliments." 

"  Thank  you !"  cried  the  girl,  pouting  satirically  as  she 
made  a  mock  curtsey,  "  I  do  n't  want  any  of  your  compli 
ments." 

"  Then  you  are  the  first  young  lady  I  ever  knew  who  did 
not." 

"  My  Lord  Harry  is  still  severe  upon  our  sex,  I  see — very 
smart,  indeed  !" 

"  My  Lord  Harry  I  How  familiar  the  foolish  old  nick 
name  sounds.  I  love  every  thing  about  old  times,  though." 


HENKY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  59 

"  Do  you  ?     But  when  did  your  lordship  arrive  ?" 

"This  moment,  with  Tom  Alston." 

"  Oh  !  then  we  're  to  have  a  double  pleasure !  The  lieu 
tenant  of  his  Excellency's  guards,  and  the  tine  gentleman, 
above  all  others,  of  the  colony!  And  just  to  think!  my 
goodness!  to  appear  before  such  company  with  my  hair 
down !  Will  you  wait  a  minute  while  I  fix  it,  my  lord  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  and  look  on  too." 

The  girl  did  not  seem  to  mind  this  in  the  least,  but  run 
ning  back  to  the  mirror,  gathered  up  her  curls,  and  quickly 
secured  them  with  a  tortoise-shell  comb.  She  then  affixed 
a  bow  of  scarlet  ribbon,  added  a  loop  of  pearls,  and  turning 
round  with  a  demure  air,  said, 

"  How  do  you  like  me  ?" 

St.  John  tried  to  make  a  jesting  reply,  but  failed.  The 
little  elf  looked  so  lovely,  standing  with  a  vagrant  gleam  of 
sunlight  on  her  head,  which  was  inclined  coquettishly  over 
one  shoulder,  that  her  companion's  fun  disappeared.  For  a 
moment  he  gazed  at  her  in  silence,  and  we  shall  embrace 
the  opportunity  to  make  an  outline  sketch  of  the  little  beauty 
— our  heroine. 

Bonnybel  Vane  is  a  sparkling,  mischievous  little  maiden  of 
about  seventeen.  She  has  a  slender,  but  elegantly  rounded 
figure,  a  clear  white  complexion,  with  two  fresh  roses  bloom 
ing  in  her  cheeks ;  red,  pouting  lips,  large  bright  eyes  of  a 
deep  violet,  which  seem  ready  to  melt  or  fire  under  the 
long  dusky  lashes,  and  a  profusion  of  light  brown  hair,  as 
soft  as  silk. 

The  face  is  oval,  of  that  pure-blooded  Norman  type  which 
fascinated  the  kings  and  princes  of  the  middle  ages,  and  led 
to  so  many  bitter  feuds  and  bloody  wars.  The  beautiful, 
mischievous-looking  head  is  placed  upon  a  swan-like  neck, 
and  inclines  toward  one  of  the  snowy  shoulders. 

As  to  the  expression  of  the  girl's  features,  we  can  not  de 
scribe  it.  The  brilliant  violet  eyes  are  ready  to  dance  with 
merriment  and  mischief,  or  swim  in  the  dews  of  feeling ; 
the  lips  are  mobile,  prepared  to  contract,  like  crumpled  rose- 


60  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

leaves,  with  demure  amusement  at  some  jest,  or,  half-parted, 
to  express  a  world  of  pity  and  pathos.  Bonnybel  is  a  strik 
ing  type  of  the  woman  of  the  South,  as  opposed  to  the  pale, 
calm,  statuesque  beauty  of  more  northern  countries ;  she  is 
brimful  of  feeling,  of  impulse,  mischief,  coquettish  wildness ; 
indeed,  but  for  the  impropriety  of  the  illustration — 


-it  sounds  ill, 


But  there 's  no  wrong  at  bottom — rather  praise" — 

we  should  say  that  she  resembles  a  "  thorough-bred"  young 
race-horse  of  the  most  elegant  proportions  and  the  purest 
"  blood." 

She  is  clad  in  a  pink  dress,  looped  back  with  bows  of 
ribbon,  a  close-fitting,  square-cut  bodice ;  and  a  frill  of  rich 
lace  runs  around  the  neck,  and  appears  beneath  the  short 
sleeves,  which  leave  the  arms  of  the  girl  bare  almost  to  the 
shoulders.  She  wears  red  coral  bracelets  clasped  with  gold, 
and  her  arms  are  of  dazzling  whiteness. 

In  reply  to  her  question,  "  How  do  you  like  me  ?"  St. 
John  at  last,  when  he  has  recovered  from  his  trance  of  admi 
ration,  replies  that  he  likes  her  more  than  he  can  tell. 

"Your  arms  are  especially  beautiful,  Bonny,"  he  says. 
"  Do  you  use  cosmetics  ?" 

"  Cosmetics  !  indeed !  No,  sir,  I  do  not !"  she  cried,  with 
indignation.  "  Nature  made  them  as  they  are !" 

"  I  wish  nature  had  given  them  to  me." 

"  To  you  ?    Pray,  what  would  you  do  with  them  ?" 

"  I  would  clasp  them  round  my  neck,"  said  the  young 
man ;  "  though  I  know  about  fifty  young  gentlemen  who 
would  like,  in  that  event,  to  put  an  end  to  my  existence." 

"  A  very  pretty  speech  !"  cries  Bonnybel,  with  a  danger 
ous  glance  of  her  coquettish  eyes ;  "please  inform  me  what 
romance  you  have  been  reading  lately." 

"  None.     I  have  not  had  time.     I  have  been  thinking." 

"  Thinking  of  what  ?" 

"  Of  reality — suppose  I  say  of  you,  Bonny  ?" 

And  the  young  man,  losing  his  tone  of  jesting  satire,  al- 


HENEY   ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEATAX.  61 

most  sighs.  Bonnybel's  quick  ear  catches  the  sound  per 
fectly,  and  the  change  of  tone.  But  she  does  not  betray  the 
fact  in  the  least.  On  the  contrary,  she  laughs  carelessly  and 
says: 

"  Of  me  ?  Good  gracious !  is  it  possible  you  have  time 
to  think  of  your  little  country  cousin  in  the  midst  of  your 
arduous  toils,  parading  and  marching  ?" 

"Yes,"  replies  St.  John,  looking  with  honest  fondness 
straight  into  the  girl's  eyes,  "  I  thought  of  you  often.  Ah ! 
my  dear,  a  young  man  can  not  be  so  much  with  his  '  little 
cousin,'  as  you  say,  when  she  is  as  sweet  as  you,  Bonny, 
and  then  master  his  thoughts.  I  dream  of  you  sometimes, 
and  't  is  a  lovely,  laughing  little  fairy  I  see  in  my  dreams." 

"  Excellent!  You  have  certainly  been  reading  romances ! 
Gracious  !  I  a  fairy.  I  suppose  you  '11  call  me  an  angel  next. 
Thank  you,  sir,  but  I  'm  sorry  to  say  I  am  neither.  I  am 
only  a  country  girl,  made  of  flesh  and  blood,  with  a  fine  ap 
petite,  a  quick  temper,  and  a  fondness  for  every  thing  like  & 
frolic — there,  sir ! — and  a — " 

"  Warm,  true  heart,  in  spite  of  your  mischievous  ways  !" 
added  St.  John,  returning  to  his  light  tone  of  jest.  "  Oh, 
I  know  you  very  well,  Bonny — may  be  too  well.  I  mean 
that  I  had  better  have  not  seen  so  much  of  you ;  but  let  us 
go  to  aunt." 

He  took  her  hand,  and  Bonnybel,  who  had  rapidly  glanced 
at  his  face,  yielded  it  without  a  word.  The  little  beauty, 
with  the  quick  instinct  of  her  sex,  had  already  discovered 
the  state  of  her  cousin's  feelings — the  secret  of  the  power 
she  could  exert  over  him.  The  further  progress  of  our  nar 
rative  will  show  whether  the  young  lady's  calculations  were 
or  were  not  correct. 

They  rapidly  descended  the  stair-case,  hand  in  hand,  and 
Bonnybel,  quietly  extricating  herself,  led  the  way  to  a  room 
in  the  rear,  the  door  of  which  she  opened. 

In  a  moment  Mr.  St.  John  found  himself  affectionately 
embraced  by  a  pair  of  thin  arms,  and  received  a  kiss.  Aunt 
Mabel  sat  in  her  old  chair,  thin,  erect,  clad  in  black  silk,  a 


62  HEffRT   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN". 

snowy  handkerchief  pinned  across  her  bosom  ;  her  scant 
gray  hair  neatly  gathered  beneath  the  plaits  of  her  full  lace 
cap.  The  old  lady  was  busy  knitting,  casting  from  time  to 
time  a  glance  at  a  little  negro  girl,  who  was  taking  her  first 
lessons  in  coarse  sewing,  on  a  cricket  at  her  mistress'  feet. 
At  the  distance  of  six  paces,  a  chambermaid  was  knitting 
rough  stockings,  and,  in  the  corner,  an  old  negro  woman, 
with  her  head  tied  up  in  a  white  cloth,  assiduously  plied  the 
shears  in  cutting  out  clothes  for  the  household. 

Aunt  Mabel  received  her  nephew  with  great  affection, 
and  made  him  give  her  all  the  news. 

"  Well,  well,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  in 
such  good  health  and  spirits,  nephew.  Still,  you  were  best 
here  attending  to  your  interests." 

"  I  think  so,  too,  aunt,"  said  the  young  man,  looking  to 
ward  Bonnybel,  who  was  powdering  her  hair  at  the  mirror, 
with  a  little  round  cushion  of  swansdown ;  "  and  what  does 
Miss  Bonnybel  think  on  the  subject  ?" 

"  Sir  ?"  said  the  young  lady,  turning  round  ;  "  did  you 
speak  to  me  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"  Then  our  conversation  is  inaudible — is  it  ?"  he  said,  with 
a  smile.  "  I  was  only  telling  aunt  that  I  thought  I  had  best 
come  back  to  the  old  county  and  remain  here.  I  think 
there 's  nothing  like  the  beauty  of  our  fields  in  the  whole 
wide  world,  aunt.  To  be  a  country  gentleman  after  all 
seems  to  me  a  worthier  ambition  than  to  bow  my  knee  be 
fore  the  grandest  royalty  of  Europe.  The  sight  of  the  fields 
yonder,  where  I  played  in  boyhood,  makes  me  a  boy  again  ; 
and,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  "I  have  the  pleasure  of  meet 
ing  one  of  my  old  playmates." 

"  You  mean  Bonny,  I  suppose,  Harry,"  says  Aunt  Mabel, 
knitting  busily.  "  Yes,  she  often  says  't  is  not  so  merry 
when  you  are  away — your  laugh  is  wanting." 

Miss  Bonnybel  turned  quickly,  having  suddenly  finished 
her  occupation. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  63 

"  I  said  ! — mamma ! — I  only  meant — " 

"  That  Columbine  did  n't  enjoy  herself  without  Harle 
quin  !"  said  the  young  man.  "  I  'm  glad  you  've  suddenly 
found  your  ears,  Miss  Columbine !" 

"  Thank  you,  sir !"  said  Bonnybel,  curtesying  with  mock 
ceremony,  and  pouting  satirically,  "  I  suppose  you  think 
that 's  very  smart  and  fine  !  O  !  goodness  gracious !"  sud 
denly  cried  the  young  lady,  relapsing  into  laughter,  "  there  's 
all  my  hair  come  down  !" 

]ji  truth  the  ardor  of  the  damsel  in  turning  her  head  had 
produced  the  result  indicated,  and  her  snowy  shoulders  were 
again  covered  by  the  profuse  brown  curls. 

"  Let  me  assist  you,"  said  St.  John,  raising  a  mass  of  curls 
and  smiling. 

"  No,  if  you  please,  sir !"  cried  the  girl,  drawing  back ; 
"  you  would  make  a  bad  lady's  maid,  and  I  'd  rather  not !" 

"  Then  I  '11  go  see  Aunt  Seraphina  and  Cousin  Helen,"  said 
St.  John,  and  with  these  words  he  descended  to  the  sitting- 
room. 

It  was  a  large  apartment,  decorated,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  period,  with  carved  wainscoting,  and  hung  around  with 
many  portraits  of  old  gentlemen  in  powder,  and  fair  dames 
floating  in  translucent  clouds  of  saffron  lace.  High-backed 
chairs  stood  about  in  picturesque  disorder,  and  upon  a  table, 
with  crooked  legs,  were  a  number  of  volumes  in  embossed 
leather,  tossed  about  at  random.  An  embroidery  frame 
stood  in  one  corner,  upon  which  a  lady  was  then  working, 
the  design  of  her  picture  being  Amyntor,  in  red  stockings, 
and  a  blue  hat,  with  snowy  feathers,  playing  upon  a  Spanish 
mandolin,  beneath  the  window  of  Amoret.  An  old  sideboard, 
with  some  silver  plate  on  it,  a  little  table,  covered  with  china 
figures  and  grotesque  vessels  of  that  hideous  description 
fashionable  at  the  period,  and,  between  the  windows  look 
ing  on  the  lawn,  an  old  harpsichord,  tall,  stately,  and  antique 
— completed  the  accessories  of  the  apartment  in  which  Mr. 
St.  John  now  found  himself. 

Miss  Seraphina,  sister  of  Colonel  Vane,  and  a  lady  of  uu- 


64  HENEY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

certain  age,  was  working  at  the  embroidery  frame  with  sen 
timental  smiles,  as  Mr.  Tom  Alston  exchanged  compliments ; 
and  Mr.  St.  John  had  scarcely  gotten  through  his  greetings 
when  Miss  Helen  Vane  made  her  appearance,  her  waist  en 
circled  by  the  arm  of  Miss  Bonnybel,  a  pretty  picture  which 
young  ladies  have  affected  in  all  ages.  Miss  Helen  is  a 
handsome  brunette  of  about  twenty,  with  dark  hair,  dark 
eyes,  and  an  air  of  serenity  which  seems  incapable  of  change. 
She  is  erect  and  somewhat  stately  in  the  carriage  of  her  full 
and  handsome  person,  clad  in  rich  black,  rustling  silk,  and 
the  faint  smile  which  wanders  from  time  to  time  over  her 
countenance,  scarcely  relaxes  this  prevailing  expression  of 
collected  calmness. 

When  Mr.  St.  John  essays  to  "  salute"  Miss  Helen,  she 
draws  back,  turning  away  her  head,  and  the  young  man  is 
obliged  to  content  himself  with  a  salute  bestowed  upon  the 
ribband  of  her  head  dress. 

We  have  thus  attempted  to  outline  two  young  ladies  who 
were  great  toasts  in  their  day — especially  the  younger 
maiden,  Miss  Bonnybel,  whose  brilliant  eyes,  and  lovely  face, 
with  those  of  her  companions,  illustrated  so  finely  the  times 
in  which  they  moved.  Yet  who  can  paint  them  ?  cries  our 
good  author,  breaking  forth,  as  is  his  wont,  into  raptures. 
Who  can  even  so  much  as  outline  them  truly,  those  ten 
der  little  dames  of  the  Virginia  past  ?  They  shine  upon  us 
now  like  stars,  glimmering  far  away  on  the  blue  horizon  of 
the  elder  day,  withdrawing,  as  we  gaze,  their  ineffectual 
fires,  and  fainting  in  the  garish  sunlight  of  the  present.  It 
is  easy  to  tell  of  the  looped-back  gown,  and  all  the  rich  fur 
belows  and  flounces,  with  streaming  ribbon  knots  ;  the  red 
Spanish  shoes,  the  clocks  on  the  stockings,  the  lace  around 
shoulders  like  the  driven  snow,  or  the  powder  that  lies,  like 
that  snow,  on  the  hair — the  dark  or  bright  hair,  the  raven 
or  the  golden !  But  alas !  these  are  only  the  externals. 
There  is  something  beneath  all  this  which  still  escapes  us, 
which  we  vainly  attempt  to  grasp  or  describe.  Mild  and 
serene,  there  was  yet  something  bright  and  ardent  in  these 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN".  65 

natures  which  we  do  not  see  to-day !  The  blossom  on  the 
bough,  the  spray  on  the  wave,  the  dew  on  the  grass — some 
thing  fresh,  and  natural,  and  indescribable !  A  grace  which 
we  can  not  express,  which  flits  when  we  try  to  embrace  it 
— the  shadow  of  a  shadow ! 


CHAPTER  X. 

"OLD    GOUTY." 

THE  party  of  young  people  are  laughing  and  talking  with 
immense  assiduity,  when  a  door  in  the  hall  is  heard  to  open, 
a  species  of  growl  resounds,  and  Helen  and  Bonnybel  say,  at 
the  same  moment,  "  There  's  papa !" 

The  young  men  rise,  and  at  the  same  moment  old  Colonel 
Vane  appears  at  the  door,  and  cries  in  a  cheery  voice, 

"  Good  morrow,  Tom,  and  welcome,  Captain  Harry ! 
When  did  you  turn  up,  and  where  from  ?" 

"  Tom  came  with  me  from  town,  uncle,"  says  Mr.  St.  John, 
shaking  th»'fat  hand,  "how  is  your  health?" 

"  So  so — so  so !  I  think  the  devil 's  in  this  foot,  Harry ! 
I  might  sit  for  the  portrait  of  Old  Gouty !" 

And  the  rubicund  old  gentleman  laughed  and  grimaced. 
There  was  much  truth  in.  his  declaration.  Never  did  gout 
attack  a  more  suitable  subject.  Colonel  Vane  was  an  old 
fellow  of  about  sixty,  with  a  portly  person,  one  foot  wrapped 
in  bandages,  wrhile  the  other  was  encased  in  a  neat  buckled 
shoe,  and  silk  stocking,  and  his  costume  indicated  one  well 
to  do  in,  the  world,  and  fond  of  his  ease.  His  powdered 
hair  was  gathered  in  a  queue  behind,  his  ruffles  were  huge 
and  spotless,  and  the  gold-headed  cane  which  he  carried 
had  evidently  found  its  way  to  Virginia  from  the  shop  of  a 
London  maker.  With  this  cane  he  half  supported  himself, 
though  he  seemed  greatly  to  prefer  the  soft  shoulders  of 
Misses  Helen  and  Bonnybel,  who  hastened  to  his  side. 


66  HENRY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

Had  Addison  seen  the  old  fellow  thus  smiling  and  making 
wry  faces  at  the  enemy  in  his  foot,  the  worthy  colonel  would 
have  been  immortalized  in  a  number  of  the  Spectator,  and 
it  is  more  than  probable  that  Hogarth,  or  one  of  the  later 
humorists  of  the  town,  would  have  drawn  him  in  the  charac 
ter  of  an  East  Indian  director  limping  forth  to  his  coach,  af 
ter  a  dinner  at  the  Lord  Mayor's,  irascible  with  the  gout, 
and  still  growling  at  the  insolence  of  the  American  rebels, 
who  had  tossed  the  Company's  tea  overboard  in  the  harbor 
of  Boston. 

"  Youth  's  a  fine  thing  !"  said  the  jolly  old  colonel,  smil 
ing  at  the  party,  "  and  I  enjoyed  my  own.  There!  there  ! 
my  dear — softly  !" 

And  the  colonel  commenced  moving  toward  the  chariot. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  county  court,"  he  said,  "  that  is  if 
this  cursed  gout  will  let  me !  My  old  enemy,  boys,"  added 
the  worthy ;  "  and  like  a  scolding  wife,  has  ever  the  last 
word  !  'T  is  enough  to  make  a  man  swear  ;  but  I  won't.  I 
must  get  on  and  see  to  that  road  to  the  river ;  the  girls  will 
take  care  of  you — there !  there !  easy,  my  dear !" 

And  the  colonel  stepped  upon  the  portico,  still  supported 
by  the  girls. 

"  Come  here  you  old  rascal !"  he  cried  to  Cato ;  "  give  me 
your  arm !" 

Old  Cato,  in  a  measured  and  deliberate  way,  abandoned 
the  horses,  and  approached  his  master.  The  colonel,  how 
ever,  desired  that  Cato  should  rush  rapidly  toward  him,  and 
the  deliberate  pace  of  the  old  negro  caused  him  to  flourish 
his  cane  and  swear. 

Cato  did  not  hasten  his  steps,  however.  He  seemed  to 
think  that  he  as  well  as  his  master  had  rights,  and  moreover, 
was  convinced  from  long  experience  that  the  cane  would 
not  descend  upon  his  shoulders.  The  event  proved  his  good 
sense — he  preserved  his  personal  dignity  and  lost  nothing. 

"Look  at  the  old  dog  !"  said  the  colonel ;  "  he  presumes 
upon  my  good  nature  and  takes  his  time.  Come,  you  aban 
doned  old  wretch !  There !  take  care  of  the  foot !  easy !" 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  67 

And  leaning  upon  Cato,  the  old  gentleman  reached  the 
chariot,  and  was.  comfortably  deposited  within  upon  the 
soft  cushions.  The  young  girls  bade  him  good-bye,  with  a 
kiss ;  and  old  Cato  having  received  an  intimation  from  the 
colonel  that  he  would  thrash  him  on  his  return,  if  he  drove 
faster  than  a  slow  walk,  the  chariot  rolled  away  over  the 
smooth  gravel  at  a  brisk  trot,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

It  had  scarcely  disappeared  behind  the  foliage,  when  half 
a  dozen  ladies  and  gentlemen  on  horseback  appeared  at  the 
outer  gate,  and  mounted  the  hill  at  full  gallop.  They  dis 
mounted  before  the  house  in  the  midst  of  a  joyful  clatter, 
and  a  shower  of  kisses,  and  Miss  Bonnybel  seemed  ready  to 
dance  with  delight  at  the  anticipation  of  a  frolic. 


CHAPTER    XL 

A     MAT     MORNING     IN     '74. 

OUR  history  will  not  admit  of  a  detailed  description  of 
the  events  of  the  day  at  Vanely,  else  should  we  take  pleas 
ure  in  relating  how  the  gallants  in  ruffles  and  powder  paid 
assiduous  court  to  the  damsels  in  hoops  and  furbelows ;  how 
laughter  and  sighs,  bright  glances  and  jests,  with  incessant 
rattling  on  the  old  harpsichord,  filled  the  morning. 

Many  songs  were  sang,  and  in  truth — says  our  good  au 
thor,  full  of  admiration,  as  usual,  of  the  damsels — there  was 
rarest  music  in  those  girlish  voices  caroling  the  tender  or 
gay  ditties  of  the  past.  The  ardent  love  of  faithful  shep 
herds  for  the  dearest  shepherdesses  sang  in  their  madrigals, 
and  all  was  love  and  sunshine,  laughter,  merriment  and  joy. 
Sparkling  eyes  lent  point  and  brilliancy  to  jests  from  rosy 
lips ;  and  all  was  May  in  tbe  old  house,  whose  very  portraits 
seemed  to  smile  and  say,  "  Be  happy  while  't  is  May !" 

At  last  the  gay  sunshine  drew  them  to  the  lawn,  and  soon 
they  were  wandering  across  the  flowery  grass,  and  under 


68  HENRY  ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

the  old  century  oaks — a  merry  party,  brilliant  as  the  flowers 
which  the  little  maidens  really  resembled  in  their  variegated 
dresseSj  and  communicating  to  the  grounds  of  the  old  home 
stead  new  attraction.* 

The  birds  sang  merrily  above  their  heads,  flitting  from 
tree  to  tree  across  the  mild  blue ;  the  apple  blossoms  lay 
upon  the  boughs  like  fragrant  snow,  and  the  fresh  river 
breezes,  bearing  on  their  wings  the  odor  of  the  sea,  blew 
on  the  tender  foreheads,  and  made  every  cheek  more  rosy, 
and  ran  through  the  branches  overhead,  dancing  and  sing 
ing,  and  then  died  away,  a  musical  murmur,  mingling  with 
the  carol  of  the  maidens  like  a  symphony  from  airy  harps. 

And  suddenly  in  a  dell  of  the  forest,  or  rather  beneath 
a  knoll  of  the  lawn,  they  came  upon  a  very  pleasing  device 
of  Miss  Bonnybel's — nothing  less  than  a  most  tempting 
array  of  edibles  scattered  in  picturesque  confusion  on  the 
grass.  Heavy  slices  of  fruit-cake  piled  themselves  up  or  lay 
in  masses ;  cut-glass  dishes  scarcely  held  the  golden  moun 
tains  of  cool  jellies ;  bottles  of  the  colonel's  finest  sherry 
rolled  about,  like  topers  overcome  with  liquor,  in  the  grass ; 
and  in  the  center  a  huge  round  of  beef  flanked  with  cold 
fowls  and  ham,  twinkled  in  light  and  shadow,  as  the  boughs 
of  the  great  oak  moved  with  the  breeze. 

Laughing  like  children  at  the  pleasant  surprise,  the  young 
men  and  maidens  hasten  to  the  spot,  and  the  attack  com 
mences  very  vigorously. 

It  is  a  scene  from  "  As  You  Like  it,"  or  of  Robin  Hood's 
day,  or  such  as  Watteau  liked  to  place  on  canvas. 

Seated  on  the  emerald  sward,  in  attitudes  of  careless  ease 
and  graceful  abandon,  with  saffron  laces  around  snowy  arms, 
and  silken  dresses  emulating  tulip  beds,  and  small  hands 
grasping  slender  glasses  filled  with  gold,  and  merry  laughter 
at  a  thousand  jests — thus  scattered  over  the  lawn,  beneath 
the  rustling  boughs  of  the  old  oak,  the  party  make  a  little 
Avcady  for  themselves,  without  a  cloud,  filled  full  with  sun 
shine. 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  V. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  69 

"  'T  is  really  charming,"  says  Tom  Alston,  who,  having 
finished  his  repast,  gently  smoothes  his  ruffles  with  one  hand, 
holding  a  glass  of  sherry  in  the  other ;  "  't  is  quite  a  sylvan 
scene,  from  one  of  the  pastorals,  of  Mr.  Pope,  say." 

"  Or  Theocritus,"  adds  a  young  gentleman  recently  from 
college. 

"  Yes,"  says  Mr.  Alston,  "  and  reminds  me  of  a  similar 
scene,  when  I  was  a  young  fellow,  in  Effingham  woods." 

"  When  Kate  Effingham  was  your  sweetheart,"  cries 
Bonnybel,  laughing. 

"  Really — ahem ! — really  now,"  replies  Mr.  Alston,  mod 
estly,  "  I  prefer  not  alluding  to  these  subjects,  but  I  believe 
that  most  charming  young  lady  did  have  some  regard  for 
me." 

Mr.  Alston  looks  more  modest  than  ever,  and  adds, 

"  I,  however,  resigned  her  to  my  friend,  Will  Effingham 
— sacrificed  myself  on  the  altar  of  friendship — they  are  now 
married." 

General  laughter  greets  this  communication,  and  a  smile 
even  wanders  over  the  countenance  of  Helen.  The  laugh 
ter  does  not  embarrass  Mr.  Alston,  who  says, 

"  On  that  agreeable  occasion,  Miss  Kate  sang  a  charming 
song — '  I  'm  o'er  young  to  marry  yet ;'  also  another,  which 
methinks  no  poet  has  surpassed — '  There  lives  a  lass  upon 
the  green.'  " 

Mr.  Alston's  talent  is  well  known,  and  he  is  besieged  to 
sing.  He  receives  the  proposal  with  surprise,  declares  he 
has  a  cold — protests  he  can  not.  At  the  end  often  minutes, 
however,  he  is  singing  in  a  voice  of  great  melody.  This  is 
his  song : 

"  There  lives  a  lass  upon  the  green ; 

Could  I  her  picture  draw, 
A  brighter  nymph  was  never  seen ; 
She  looks  and  reigns  a  little  queen, 

And  keeps  the  swains  in  awe. 

"  Her  eyes  are  Cupid's  darts  and  wings, 
Her  eyebrows  are  his  bow, 


70  HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

Her  silken  hair  the  silver  strings, 
Which  swift  and  sure  destruction  brings 
To  all  the  vale  below. 

"  If  Pastorella's  dawn  of  light 

Can  warm  and  wound  us  so, 
Her  noon  must  be  so  piercing  bright  * 

Each  glancing  beam  would  kill  outright, 

And  every  swain  subdue !" 

Much  applause  follows,  and  Mr.  Alston  raises  his  glass — 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  drinking  the  health  of  our  hostess, 
Pastorella,"  he  says,  bowing  to  Bonnybel. 

The  young  lady  rises,  and  makes  a  low  and  demure  cur- 
tesy,  endeavoring  to  smother  her  laughter,  caused  by  the 
languishing  expression  of  Mr.  Alston.  It  bursts  forth,  how 
ever,  and  all  join  in  the  merry  peal. 

At  the  same  moment,  a  distant  cannon  booms  across  the 
fields,  and  every  one  starts.  Bonnybel  claps  her  hands  and 
cries  that  it  is  Captain  Fellowes,  of  the  "  Charming  Sally," 
with  all  the  new  London  dresses  !  She  has  seen  his  arrival 
at  York  in  the  Gazette,  and  he  always  fires  his  swivel  at  the 
landings ! 

Miss  Bonnybel's  excitement  about  the  new  dresses  is  con 
tagious,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  the  entire  party  of  young  la 
dies,  accompanied  by  their  cavaliers,  are  galloping  toward 
the  Vanely  wharf. 

The  "  Charming  Sally"  has  gone  aground,  owing  to  low 
water,  at  some  distance  from  the  piers  running  out.  into  the 
river,  but  the  large  boat,  always  lying  below  the  old  ware 
house,  is  put  in  requisition,  and,  propelled  by  two  stalwart 
and  grinning  Africans,  the  craft  plunges  her  cutwater  into 
the  current,  and  lands  the  party  on  the  vessel. 

Captain  Fellowes  is  a  good-humored  old  tar,  and  meets  the 
young  people  with  the  air  of  an  old  acquaintance.  To  Miss 
Bonnybel's  excited  question  as  to  her  dresses,  the  old  fel 
low  replies  by  lugging  down  his  book  of  entries,  smiling, 
and  the  young  lady  having  come  to  V,  reads  aloud  hur 
riedly — 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  71 

"  Colonel  Vane — Vanely  Landing — Prince  George — casks 
Canary — boxes  Zante  currants — oranges  Barcelona — Lucca 
olives — saddles — harness — volumes  in  leather,  namely  — 
gowns  from  Madam  Fenton — over  against — " 

"  Here  it  is !"  cries  Miss  Bonnybel ;  "look,  Helen !  every 
thing  we  sent  for  !" 

Helen  smiles — she  is  less  enthusiastic. 

"  O  thank  you,  Captain  Fellowes !"  cries  Bonnybel ;  "  you 
must  not  laugh  at  me  for  my  noise,  for  you  know  I  'm  not 
one  of  the  lords  of  creation.  Please  send  these  boxes  at 
once  to  the  house,  and  papa's  Canary  for  dinner,  if  he  comes 
back." 

To  all  this,  Captain  Fellowes  growled  a  good-humored 
assent,  and  then  the  party,  having  scattered  themselves  over 
the  vessel,  and  satisfied  their  curiosity  by  inspecting  every 
thing,  reentered  the  boat  and  were  rowed  back  to  the 
wharf. 

But  not  to  the  sons  or  the  daughters  of  men,  come  days 
without  a  cloud — unalloyed  pleasure — the  rose  without  the 
obstinate  thorn. 

Bonnybel  and  her  cousin  were  the  last  to  leave  the  bdat. 
With  dancing  eyes,  and  bright  cheeks,  rosy  with  pleasure, 
the  young  lady  hastened  to  ascend  the  wharf.  But  unhappy 
to  relate,  her  slipper  was  placed  much  too  carelessly  upon 
the  smooth  gunwale ;  the  boat  swayed,  and  slipping  first 
upon  her  knee,  then  wholly,  Miss  Bonnybel  was  precipitat 
ed  into  the  river. 

We  need  scarcely  say  that  she  rose  from  the  waves  in  the 
arms  of  Mr.  St.  John,  who  gallantly  rescued  her. 

A  dozen  frightened  faces  and  eager  hands  were  immedi 
ately  stretched  out,  and  the  young  lady  stood  safely  upon 
the  wharf;  but  with  a  direful  change  in  her  appearance. 
Her  hair  had  fallen  upon  her  shoulders,  and  streamed  with 
water ;  her  furbelows  had  disappeared,  and  a  small  foot  clad 
.in  a  white  silk  stocking,  from  which  the  shoe  had  been  lost, 
peered  from  her  skirt,  from  which  a  flood  of  moisture  de 
scended. 


72  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

"  Oh  me !"  cried  the  young  lady,  leaning  upon  one  of  her 
companions,  "  how  did  I  fall  into  the  water  ?" 

"  Very  gracefully,"  replied  St.  John. 

"And  you  saved  me!" 

"  In  the  most  heroic  manner,"  replied  the  young  man, 
wringing  his  wet  sleeves,  "  and  I  know  you  are  too  much 
of  a  heroine  to  mind  it." 

"  I  do  n't,"  said  Miss  Bonnybel,  laughing  and  blushing 
as  she  drew  back  her  foot ;  "  but,  oh  goodness,  I  've  lost  my 
shoe !" 

It  was  brought  as  she  spoke,  by  a  negro  who  had  fished 
it  out ;  and  Mr.  St.  John  most  gallantly  replaced  it  upon 
the  foot.  It  was  doubtless  owing  to  the  moist  state  of  the 
stocking  that  he  consumed  about  twice  as  much  time  as  was 
necessary, 

The  ceremony  was  concluded  at  last,  however,  and  then 
the  young  man  would  have  sent  for  a  carriage,  but  Bonny 
bel  would  not  hear  of  it.  She  declared  that  the  accident 
was  nothing  ;  she  could  return  upon  horseback  as  she  came ; 
and  mounting  with  laughter  into  the  saddle,  she  galloped 
off  with  her  hair  streaming,  followed  by  the  other  young 
ladies,  and  the  gallants,  who  declared  that  she  was  a  hero 
ine,  and  "  full  of  pluck." 

We  shall  not  pause  to  discuss  the  question,  but  proceed 
to  relate  that  they  soon  reached  Vanely  ;  that  Miss  Bonny 
bel  was  forced  to  partake  largely  of  artificial  spirits  by  good 
Aunt  Mabel,  and  that  the  young  lady  thereafter  put  on  one 
of  the  London  dresses  which  punctual  Captain  Fellowes  had 
iust  sent  from  the  vessel,  and  flirting  an  enormous  fan, 
swept  up  and  down  the  room  with  all  the  mincing  languor 
of  a  lady  of  the  court,  to  the  great  enjoyment  of  the  young 
ladies,  her  companions,  who  greeted  the  exhibition  with 
much  laughter. 

They  had  then  a  great  dinner,  at  which  sunset  surprised 
them ;  and  so  the  day  Avas  done ;  but  not  the  merry-making. 


HENBY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  73 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   WINDOW   PANES   AT   VANELY. 

ME.  HAEEY  ST.  JOHN  changed  his  wet  dress,  and  having 
taken  a  last  survey  of  himself  in  the  mirror,  issued  forth 
and  descended  the  stair-case. 

At  the  bottom  step,  he  paused  and  leaned  upon  the  ban 
ister. 

A  portrait  hanging  high  up  on  the  old  wall,  among  the 
powdered  heads  and  snowy  bosoms  of  the  Vane  family,  has 
attracted  his  attention. 

It  is  a  picture  of  Bonnybel,  taken  in  her  fifteenth  year, 
when  the  London  artist  came  to  Williamsburg,  and  turned 
his  skill  to  golden  account  among  the  gentlemen  and  ladies 
of  the  colony.  The  little  maiden  looks  lovely  on  the  can 
vas,  in  her  pretty  costume  of  silk,  and  lace,  and  ribbons ; 
her  sunny  hair  descending  upon  plump  white  shoulders; 
her  mischievous  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks  peering  forth  as  it 
were  from  the  brown  curls.  She  caresses  with  her  dimpled 
hand  the  head  of  a  shaggy  little  lapdog,  and  looks  into  the 
beholder's  face  with  a  mixture  of  mirth  and  tenderness. 

"'Tis  a  wonderful  art,"  mutters  the  young  man,  "and 
there  's  the  very  face  I  've  loved  to  look  on  for  many  a  day 
— full  of  wild  mischief,  and  yet  tender.  'T  would  make 
quite  a  story  for  the  pastoral  romances ! — the  history  of  my 
life ! — and  now  I  wish  to  go  away  and  fight  the  Indians ! 

"  Tom  's  right  after  all,"  he  continued.  "  I  doubtless  put 
on  the  plume  of  war  to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  somebody !  I 
believe  I  am  falling  regularly  in  love ;  but  what  will  be  the 
issue  I  do  n't  know.  "Well,  patience  and  shuffle  the  cards, 
as  Tom  says;  who  knows  what  will  happen?" 

"  Suppose  now  you  look  a  minute  at  the  original,"  said  a 
voice  at  his  elbow.  St.  John  turns  quickly  and  sees  the  vi 
vacious  Miss  Bonnybel,  decked  out  for  the  evening,  at  his 
side. 

4 


V4  HENBY   ST.   JOHN",   GENTLEMAN. 

"  But  if  I  prefer  the  portrait  ?"  he  replies ;  "  it  reminds 
me  of  old  times." 

"  When  I  was  a  child,  I  suppose,  sir !" 

"  Yes ;  and  when  you  loved  me  more  than  now." 

"  Who  said  I  did  not  love  you  now  ?"  asked  the  girl,  with 
a  coquettish  glance. 

"  Do  you  ?» 

"  Certainly.     I  love  you  dearly — you  and  all  my  cousins." 

St.  John  sighed,  and  then  laughed ;  but  he  said  nothing, 
and  offering  his  arm,  led  the  girl  into  the  sitting-room. 

The  young  girls,  whilst  awaiting  the  appearance  of  Caesar, 
the  violin  player,  from  the  "  quarters,"  amused  themselves 
writing  their  names,  after  a  fashion  very  prevalent  in  Vir 
ginia,  upon  the  panes  of  the  windows.  For  this  purpose 
they  made  use  of  diamond  rings,  or,  better  still,  the  long, 
sharp-pointed  crystals  known  as  "  Virginia  diamonds." 

With  these  the  gallants  found  no  difficulty  in  inscribing 
the  names  of  their  sweethearts,  with  all  the  flourishes  of  a 
writing-master,  on  the  glass,  and  very  soon  the  glittering 
tablets  were  scrawled  over  with  Lucies  and  Fannies,  and  a 
brilliant  genius  of  the  party  even  executed  some  fine  profile 
portraits. 

Those  names  have  remained  there  fbr  nearly  a  century, 
and  when  afterwards  the  persons  who  traced  them  looked 
with  age-dimmed  eyes  upon  the  lines,  the  dead  day  rose 
again  before  them,  and  its  forms  appeared  once  more,  laugh 
ing  and  joyous,  as  at  Vanely  on  that  evening.  And  not 
here  only  may  these  memorials  of  another  age  be  found  ;  in 
a  hundred  Virginia  houses  they  speak  of  the  past. 

Yes,  yes,  says  our  author,  those  names  on  the  panes  of 
Vanely  are  a  spell !  They  sound  with  a  strange  music, 
a  bright  wonder  in  the  ears  of  their  descendants !  Frail 
chronicle !  how  you  bring  up  the  brilliant  eyes  again,  the 
jest  and  the  glance,  the  joy  and  the  laughter,  the  splendor 
and  beauty  which  flashed  onward,  under  other  skies,  in  the 
old  Virginia,  dead  to  us  so  long !  As  I  gaze  on  your  sur 
faces,  bright  panes  of  Vanely,  I  fancy  with  what  sparkling 


HENRY   ST.  JOHN",   GENTLEMAN".  75 

eyes  the  names  were  traced.  I  see  in  a  dream,  as  it 
were,  the  soft  white  hand  which  laid  its  cushioned  palm  on 
this  glittering  tablet ;  I  see  the  rich  dresses,  the  bending 
necks,  the  figures  gracefully  inclined  as  the  maidens  leaned 
over  to  write  "  Lucy,"  and  "  Fanny,"  and  "  Nelly,"  and 
"  Frances,"  and  "  Kate ;"  I  see  the  curls  and  the  powder, 
the  furbelows  and  flounces,  the  ring  on  the  finger,  the  lace 
on  the  arm — poor  lace  that  was  yellow  indeed  by  the  snow 
it  enveloped  !  I  see,  no  less  clearly,  the  forms  of  the  gal 
lants,  those  worthy  young  fellows  in  ruffles  and  fairtops ;  I 
see  all  the  smiles,  and  the  laughter,  and  love.  All  is  very 
plain,  and  I  mutter,  "  Fair  dames  and  cavaliers,  what 's  be 
come  of  all  your  laughter  and  sighing — your  mirth,  and 
bright  eyes,  and  high  pride  ?  Did  you  think  that  all  gener 
ations  but  your  own  were  mortal  ?  that  the  sun  would  al 
ways  shine,  the  music  ever  sound,  the  roses  on  your  cheeks 
never  wither  ?  You  had  pearls  in  your  hail',  and  your  lips 
were  carnations  ;  the  pearls  may  remain,  but  the  carnations, 
where  are  they  ?  O  beautiful  figures  of  a  dead  generation ! 
you  are  phantoms  only.  You  are  all  gone,  and  your  laces 
have  faded  or  are  moth-eaten ;  you  are  silent  now,  and  still, 
and  the  minuet  bows  no  more  ;  you  are  dimly  remembered 
laughter,  the  heroines  of  a  tale  that  is  told — you  live  on  a 
window  pane  only  !"  Old  panes  !  it  is  the  human  story  that 
I  read  in  you — the  legend  of  a  generation,  and  of  all  gener 
ations  !  For  what  are  the  records  of  earth  and  its  actors 
but  frost-work  on  a  pane,  or  these  scratches  of  a  diamond 
which  a  blow  shatters.  A  trifle  may  shiver  the  tablet  and 
strew  it  in  the  dust !  There  is  only  one  record,  one  tablet, 
where  the  name  which  is  written  lives  for  ever ;  it  is  not  in 
this  world,  't  is  beyond  the  stars  ! 

"  O  there 's  Uncle  Csesar  !"  cries  Bonnybel,  "  and  we  '11 
have  a  dance !" 

"  Yes,  a  dance !" 

"  O  yes!" 

"  How  do  you  do,  Uncle  Csesar  ?" 

"  A  minuet  first !" 


76  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

These  are  some  of  the  outcries  which  resound  through  the 
apartment  as  an  old  gray-haired  African  appears  at  the  door, 
and  removing  his  fox-tail  cap,  louts  low  before  the  animated 
throng. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

HOW  THEY   DANCED   A    MINUET    DE    LA   COUB. 

WE  linger  for  a  moment  to  look  upon  the  divertisements  of 
that  old,  old  land — the  far  away  colonial  Virginia.  It  is  all 
gone  from  us,  and,  as  says  our  worthy  author,  the  minuet 
bows  no  longer,  but  it  shall  bow  in  our  history  as  it  did  be 
fore.  A  narrative,  such  as  we  write,  should  not  only  flow 
on  like  a  stream  toward  its  termination,  it  should  also  mir 
ror  on  its  surface  the  bright  scenes  it  passes  through — the 
banks,  the  skies,  the  flowers  of  other  years,  all  should  be 
painted  on  the  ever  moving  current. 

Therefore  we  pause  a  moment  to  look  on  the  minuet,  to 
listen  to  old  Uncle  Caesar's  fiddle,  to  hear  the  long-drawn 
music  wind  its  liquid  cadences  through  mellow  variations, 
and  to  see  the  forms  and  faces  of  the  young  men  and  the 
maidens. 

They  have  a  quadrille  first,  and  then  a  couple  take  the 
floor. 

St.  John  leans  on  the  carved  back  of  Bonnybel's  chair, 
and  makes  himself  generally  agreeable. 

"  How  gracefully  the  girls  of  Virginia  dress,"  he  says ; 
"  like  butterflies,  all  blue  and  gold,  and — down." 

"  Butterflies  indeed  !"  cries  the  young  lady,  "  and  pray 
what  do  the  gentlemen  resemble — wasps  ?" 

"  No ;  working  bees." 

"  Drones  rather  1" 

"  What  a  wit  you  have  !"  says  Mr.  St.  John,  laughing ; 
"  but,  really  now,  just  see.  Consider  these  lilies  of  the  par- 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  77 

lor,  they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin,  like  their  grand 
mothers." 

"  I  do,  sir  !'» 

"  Then  you  are  different.  The  young  ladies  do  n't  sew 
or  spin,  they  engage  Mr.  Pate  or  Mrs.  Hunter  to  relieve 
them  of  it." 

"  Pray,  what  do  you  know  of  Mr.  Pate  ?" 

"  I  know  what  I  read,"  says  St.  John,  taking  up,  with  a 
smile,  the  "  Virginia  Gazette ;"  "  see  here  the  notice  that 
Master  Matthew  Pate  has  for  sale,  '  Stays,  twin  and  single ; 
jumps,  half-bow  stays,  stays  made  to  buckle  before,  pin  or 
button,'  no  doubt  with  diamond  studs,  like  yours, madam!" 

"  You  are  extremely  wise  and  learned  in  the  female  cos 
tume  ;  my  stays  came  from  London,  and  I'll  thank  you — " 

Here  the  minuet  ends,  and  the  particular  conversation  is 
lost  in  the  general  buzz.  It  is  next  Bonnybel's  turn,  and 
with  a  queenly  air  she  says  to  Mr.  St.  John,  who  has  en 
gaged  her  hand, 

"  You  '11  please  ask  me  to  dance  formally,  sir  ?" 

St.  John  smiles,  deposits  his  cocked-hat  on  his  heart,  and 
bowing  to  the  ground,  requests  the  pleasure  of  a  minuet. 

Bonnybel  opens  her  enormous  fan,  with  ivory  decorations, 
places  its  downy  edge  upon  her  chin,  and  inclining  her  head 
sidewise  with  a  die-away  expression,  declares,  simpering, 
that  really  the  gallants  will  not  let  her  rest,  she 's  wearied 
with  attention,  but  supposes,  since  my  Lord  Bolingbroke 
has  asked  her  hand,  she  ought  not  to  refuse. 

With  these  words,  and  in  the  midst  of  general  laughter, 
Miss  Bonnybel  gives  her  hand  daintily  to  her  partner,  and 
they  advance  into  the  floor,  to  the  mellow  strains  of  Uncle 
Caesar's  fiddle. 

It  is  a  little  beauty  of  the  eighteenth  century,  armed  cap- 
a-pie  for  conquest,  that  the  current  of  our  story  now  re 
flects  ;  the  picture  will  be  seen  no  more  in  truth,  however, 
unless  grandma  on  the  wall  yonder,  painted  at  the  age  of 
seventeen,  steps  down  and  curteseys  to  us  in  some  reverie  or 
dream. 


78  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

Bonnybel  wears,  over  a  scarlet  petticoat,  a  hooped  dress 
of  yellow  satin,  all  furbelowed  and  decorated,  especially  with 
a  row  of  rich  rosettes,  down  to  the  feet.  The  bodice  is  cut 
square,  the  waist  long  and  slender  ;  the  satin  fits  closely  to 
the  young  lady's  pliant  figure,  which  is  encircled  by  a  silver 
girdle,  and  between  the  silken  net-work  of  red  cords,  secur 
ing  the  open  front,  a  profusion  of  saffron  lace,  kept  in  its 
place  by  diamond  studs,  dazzles  the  eye  like  a  heap  of  new 
fallen  snow  tinted  with  sunset.  The  sleeves  are  shoi't,  or 
perhaps  it  will  be  more  correct  to  say  that  the  dress  has  no 
sleeves  at  all,  the  round,  dimpled  shoulders  of  the  young 
lady  being  encircled  only,  so  to  speak,  by  a  narrow  band  of 
silk ;  and,  last  of  all,  a  cloud  of  gauze  floats  round  the  neck 
and  shoulders,  reconciling  Miss  Bonnybel  to  a  pattern  which 
she  gazed  at  somewhat  ruefully  when  it  was  first  unfolded. 
Blue  satin  shoes,  with  slender  heels  about  four  inches  high, 
and  a  light  head-dress,  principally  consisting  of  a  wreath  of 
roses,  finish  the  costume ;  the  young  lady  having  for  decora 
tion  only  a  pearl  necklace,  rising  and  falling  tranquilly. 

As  this  prettily  clad  little  beauty  bowed  before  him,  Mr. 
St.  John  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  fairer  sight,  more  danc 
ing  eyes,  any  thing  at  the  same  time  half  so  feminine  and 
mischievous.  Bonnybel  danced  exceedingly  well ;  and  as  she 
moved  in  perfect  time  to  the  stately  music,  and  bent  in  the 
measured  curtesey,  until  her  curls  fell  like  a  cloud  of  dusky 
gold  around  the  rosy  cheeks,  and  her  knee  touched  the 
floor  almost, — thus  gliding  before  him  in  the  fine  old  dance, 
and  giving  him,  with  dainty  ceremony,  the  tips  of  her  fingers, 
the  young  dame  made  her  partner  fancy  that  the  most  at 
tractive  and  provoking  fairy  of  Titania's  court  had  come  in 
from  the  moonlight,  and  would  flit  away  as  she  came.  He 
saw  her  thus  curteseying  long  afterwards,  and  when  an  old 
man,  told  it  to  another  generation.* 

So  the  minuet  bowed  and  curteseyed  itself  onward  through 
its  stately  motions,  and  with  a  low  sigh  of  satisfaction  and 
self-admiration,  died  away. 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  VI. 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  79 

But  the  dancing  was  not  over.  A  reel  succeeded.  The 
fiddler  exchanged  his  mellow  cadences  for  spirit-stirring 
mirth,  the  tragic  symphony  gave  way  to  sparkling  comedy. 
Darting,  inclining,  clasping  and  unclasping  hands,  the  gay 
party  bore  no  bad  resemblance  to  a  flock  of  children  turned 
loose  for  a  holiday.  Even  the  stately  Helen's  "  dignity" 
was  overthrown,  and  Mr.  Tom  Alston's  fine  peruke,  from 
Monsieur  Lafonge's,  filled  the  whole  wide  apartment  with 
its  perfumed  powder. 

For  almost  an  hour  thus  Uncle  Caesar  made  the  bounding 
feet  keep  time  to  his  gay  music,  and  as  he  approached  the 
end  of  the  performance,  the  old  fiddler  seemed  to  be  car 
ried  away  by  the  genius  of  uproar.  With  head  thrown 
back,  eyes  rolling  in  their  orbits,  and  huge  foot  keeping- 
time  to  the  tune,  his  bow  flashed  backward  and  forward 
with  a  wild  delight,  and  the  violin  roared  and  burst  into 
shouts  of  laughter.  Quicker  yet  and  ever  quicker  grew  the 
movements  of  the  "Snow-bird  on  the  ash-bank,"  the  old 
musician  threw  his  whole  soul  into  the  uproarious  reel,  and 
the  brilliant  forms,  with  dazzling  silks  and  eyes  more  daz 
zling  still,  and  rosy  cheeks,  and  laughter,  flashed  from  end 
to  end  of  the  great  room,  and  whirled  through  mazes,  and 
were  borne  like  variegated  foam  upon  the  sparkling  waves — 
those  waves  of  the  wild  music  which  roared,  and  laughed, 
and  shouted  over  pearls  and  powder,  diamonds  and  bright 
eyes,  in  grandest  revelry  and  furious  mirth. 

So  reigned  the  great  Ca?sar  over  man  and  maid,  and  so, 
perhaps,  the  headlong  violin  would  still  be  playing — but  for 
cruel  fate.  Suddenly  a  string  snapped,  the  dance  was  at  an 
end,  and  Uncle  Caesar,  with  a  long  scrape,  put  his  fiddle 
under  his  arm,  and  made  his  most  impressive  bow.  The 
maidens  stood  still  panting  and  laughing,  with  undulating- 
forms,  and  rosy  cheeks,  and  sparkling  eyes,  and  vigorous 
fannings ;  and  then  the  reel  at  an  end,  they  hastily  prepared 
to  depart. 

In  vain  they  were  pressed  to  stay ;  and  soon,  with  a  mul 
tiplicity  of  kisses,  (then,  as  now,  a  favorite  amusement  of 


80  HENRY   ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

young  ladies  in  the  presence  of  young  gentlemen,)  they 
fled  away  into  the  moonlit  forest,  with  their  attendant  cav 
aliers. 

Fair  dames !  what  a  pity  it  is  that  the  pen  of  him  who 
writes  could  not  adequately  paint  your  joy  and  beauty,  your 
brilliant  eyes,  your  pearl-looped  towers  of  curls,  your  dan 
gerous  glances — all  your  sighs,  and  coquetries  and  laugh 
ter  !  And  if  your  fair  grand-children,  following,  in  an  idle 
moment,  their  most  humble  servant's  chronicle,  cry  out 
with  a  pretty  indignation  at  the  fact,  the  chronicler  can 
only  take  his  hat  off  humbly,  and  bow  low,  and  plead  his 
inability  to  make  the  picture ;  to  tell  how  beautiful  those 
lilies  of  the  past  appeared ;  those  lilies  and  dear  roses  of 
Virginia  fields  ;  and  hope  that  they  are  somewhere  bloom 
ing  on  Virginia  walls — flowers  of  the  years  before  ;  but 
fresh  still  for  us,  in  imperishable  memory  ! 

St.  John  and  Bonnybel  stood  on  the  portico  and  watched 
them  till  they  disappeared. 

She  must  have  understood  the  long  ardent  look  which  he 
fixed  upon  her  face,  as  she  stood  thus,  bathed  in  the  silver 
moonlight ;  but  Miss  Bonnybel  was  sleepy  and  intent  on 
bed. 

Much  as  she  would  have  liked  to  promenade  with  her 
companion,  and  tantalize  him  with  her  glances,  she  preferred 
retiring.  So,  pursing  up  her  lips  toward  him.  as  though  she 
wished  to  be  kissed,  she  darted  away,  laughing,  and  disap 
peared. 

St.  John  remained  alone,  musing  by  moonlight  for  an 
hour,  and  then  also  retired  to  his  chamber  and  his  bed. 
It  was  to  dream  of  her. 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN",   GENTLEMAN.  81 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

WHICH     VERIFIES    THE     PROVERB    THAT    LISTENERS     NEVER 
HEAR  ANY   GOOD   OF  THEMSELVES. 

ON  the  morning  following  the  scenes  just  narrated,  St. 
John  leaped  out  of  bed  at  sunrise,  and  leaving  Tom  Al 
ston  still  asleep,  dressed  quickly,  and  went  down  stairs; 
thence  he  issued  forth  upon  the  lawn,  and  bent  his  steps 
toward  the  "  quarters." 

Here,  in  all  the  dignified  state  of  a  log  cabin  of  the  larg 
est  size,  his  nurse,  "  Mammy  Liza,"  resided. 

Let  it  not  be  a  matter  of  surprise  that  the  lieutenant  of 
his  Excellency's  guards  rose  thus  early  to  go  and  see  his 
nurse.  In  the  South,  and  more  especially  in  Virginia,  that 
element  of  society  denominated  "  Mammy,"  is  of  no  slight 
importance  and  dignity. 

This  lady  is  of  high  aristocratic  dignity.  She  is  of  the 
Order  of  the  "  Bath" — in  reference  to  the  young  ladies  of 
the  manor  house,  both  of  the  "  Bath"  and  the  "  Garter." 
Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense  ! 

For  her  young  master,  the  old  African  countess  preserves 
an  unfailing  attachment  and  a  jealous  care.  All  his  goings 
on  are  criticised  with  a  watchful  supervision.  Docs  he  per 
form  a  generous  and  noble  action  ?  the  countess  is  there  to 
say  it  is  just  like  her  boy.  Does  he  sit  up  late  with  revel 
ing  blades,  and  make  darkness  hideous  with  tipsy  uproar  ? 
the  countess  eloquently  extends  her  arm,  assumes  a  look  of 
outraged  virtue,  and  rates  the  delinquent  soundly — using 
for  the  purpose  all  her  vast  resources  in  the  art  of  scolding ; 
and  ending  with  an  ominous  shake  of  the  head,  an  unfavor 
able  comparison  of  the  scapegrace  with  his  honored  sire, 
Old  Master,  and  a  prophecy  that  if  he  do  n't  reform,  he  '11 
come  to  want,  and  them  overseers  will  be  masters  at  the  hall. 
Does  the  crushed  malefactor  urge  in  gentle  tones  that  he 
was  merely  entertaining  his  friends,  and  playing  a  hand  at 

4* 


82  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

cards,  for  amusement  only?  the  countess  is  unconvinced, 
and  requests,  with  dignity,  that  she  may  not  be  told  any 
thing  of  that  sort ;  she  never  thought  that  any  son  of  Mis 
tress  would  turn  out  a  sorrow  to  her ;  and  with  renewed 
ominous  shakings  of  the  head,  she  sends  away  the  penitent 
Criminal,  overwhelmed  with  remorse,  and  making  good  res 
olutions.  Beautiful  and  touching  is  the  love  of  these  old 
women  for  the  children  they  have  nursed  ;  and  they  cher 
ish  and  love,  and  scold  and  forgive  them,  with  the  earnest 
ness  of  real  maternity. 

Mammy  Liza  is  an  old  woman  with  her  head  enveloped 
in  a  white  handkerchief,  and  she  spins  at  the  door  of  her 
comfortable  cabin,  from  the  summit  of  whose  stone  chimney 
built  up  outside,  a  wreath  of  smoke  rises,  and  glows  like  a 
stream  of  gold  in  the  sunrise. 

St.  John  hastens  on,  smiling,  and  his  shadow  falling  be 
fore  her,  makes  Mammy  Liza  lift  her  old  face.  She  utters  an 
exclamation  of  great  joy,  and  in  a  moment  they  are  sitting 
side  by  side  on  the  old  bench,  -talking  of  a  thousand  things 
— this  talk  being  chiefly  on  the  part  of  the  old  woman,  who, 
with  the  garrulity  of  age,  embraces  the  past,  the  present, 
and  the  future,  in  her  monologue. 

For  half  an  hour  they  thus  sit  side  by  side,  and  then  Mr. 
St.  John  rises  with  the  bright  smile  which  makes  his  coun 
tenance  at  times  singularly  attractive.  He  has  renewed 
with  the  old  woman  all,  those  recollections  of  his  youth  and 
childhood,  rapidly  disappearing  amid  the  dust  of  the  arena, 
and  the  kind  old  voice  has  sounded  to  him  like  the  softest 
music,  the  very  echo  of  happiness. 

As  he  looks  forth  thus  into  the  fields,  he  thinks  he  sees 
Bonnybel  approaching,  and  soon  this  is  confirmed.  He  sud 
denly  passes  behind  the  door,  and  cautioning  the  old  woman, 
waits  to  give  the  young  lady  a  surprise. 

She  comes  on  with  an  active  and  springy  step,  clad  in  a 
brown  gown,  thick,  serviceable  shoes,  and  a  broad-rimmed 
chip  hat ;  presenting  thus  a  strong  contrast  to  the  Miss 
Bonnybel  of  the  minuet.  But  her  cheeks  are  even  more 


HENET   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAH.  83 

rosy,  her  eyes  brighter,  her  laughing  lips  resemble  real  car 
nations.  She  is  followed  by  a  small  negro  maiden,  carrying  a 
basket  and  pitcher — the  duty  of  this  maiden  at  Vanely  being 
to  watch  Miss  Bonnybel's  countenance,  and  run  at  her  nod. 

Bonnybel's  voice  salutes  Mammy  Liza,  and  asks  how  she 
is,  to  which  the  old  woman  returns  the  reply  that  she  is 
"  poorly,  thank  God ;  how  is  Miss  Bel  ?" 

"  I  'm  as  gay  as  a  lark,'.'  returns  the  young  lady,  summon 
ing  her  body-guard,  "  and  I  've  been  to  see  Auut  Jane  and 
all  the  sick.  Aunt  Seraphina  tried  to  take  it  away  from  me, 
but  I  fought  her  and  made  her  give  up,"  added  Miss  Bon- 
nybel,  with  great  cheerfulness. 

St.  John,  behind  the  door,  laughs  silently.  The  young 
lady  continues,  running  on  carelessly  : 

"  Here  's  some  breakfast.  Mammy.  I  suppose  you  know 
the  news.  Your  great  General  Harry 's  come  back !  and 
now  I  suppose  you  think  I  'm  going  to  praise  him !  but 
you  're  mistaken  !  He  is  terribly  ugly  !  and  the  most  dis 
agreeable  person  I  ever  knew !  Lazy,  too  !  just  think  of 
his  lying  in  bed,  with  poor  little  me  out  here !  It  was  chilly 
enough  when  I  got  out  of  my  warm  bed.  But  I  am  going 
to  get  up  every  morning,  just  to  shame  those  lazy  boys. 
Ha !  ha !  now  you  are  getting  angry,  Mammy !  You  want 
me  to  praise  that  stiff,  awkward,  lazy,  odious,  good-for-noth 
ing  Harry  of  yours,  but  I  won't  !  Do  you  believe  that  he 
had  the  audacity  to  kiss  me  !  Humph !  he  thinks  I  'm  a 
child  still,  does  he  ?  I  '11  make  him  know  that  I  'm  a  young 
lady !  I  'm  seventeen  !  and  I  intend  to  make  every  one  of  the 
boys  run  when  I  tell  them !  some  of  'em  are  glad  enough  to  !" 

The  young  lady  paused  to  catch  her  breath ;  but  seeing 
what  she  considered  an  expression  of  pain  upon  Mammy 
Liza's  face,  immediately  recommenced : 

"  Have  I  hurt  your  feelings,  Mammy,  with  my  talk  about 
your  boy?  O  !  I  was  only  jesting!  and  I'll  say  any  thing 
you  wish !  To  think  me  in  earnest !  He  's  the  dearest, 
sweetest,  handsomest  fellow  in  the  world !  I  would  n't 
have  had  him  to  miss  kissing  me  for  any  thing !  He 's  so 


84  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

erect,  and  proud,  and  noble!  and  has  such  an  excellent 
heart !  and  dances  so  well !  and  rides  so  well !  and — " 

"  Fishes  young  ladies  from  the  water  so  well !"  says  St. 
John,  coming  from  his  hiding  place,  with  a  laugh. 

Bonnybel  retreats  a  step,  almost  screaming.  She  recon 
siders  this,  however,  and  bursts  out  laughing. 

"  Ain't  you  ashamed,  sir  ?"  she  then  says,  passing  quickly 
to  a  pout,  "  to  lie  in  wait,  and  listen  to  me  so  !  But  there 's 
one  comfort,  you  heard  my  abuse  of  you ;  listeners  never 
hear  any  good  of  themselves." 

"  I  did,"  said  St.  John. 

"  You  heard  some  bad  too,  then !" 

"  Well,  I'll  mix  the  good  and  bad  together,  and  perhaps 
I  shall  arrive  at  your  real  opinion  of  your  poor  cousin." 

"  Now  you  are  commencing  your  mock  humility.  I  de 
test  you !" 

And  Bonnybel  draws  away  abruptly  the  small  soft  hand 
which,  by  some  accident,  has  remained  in  that  of  her  com 
panion  since  he  took  possession  of  it.  There  is,  however, 
very  little  detestation  in  the  tone  of  the  words,  or  the 
glance  which  accompanies  them. 

When  they  take  leave  of  Mammy  Liza,  and  return  toward 
the  mansion  over  the  beautiful  dewy  lawn,  beneath  the  great 
oaks,  bathed  in  the  red  sunlight,  an  excellent  understanding 
seems  to  have  been  arrived  at,  and  Bonnybel  is  plying  the 
dangerous  artillery  of  her  eyes  with  fatal  effect  upon  her 
companion. 

Mr.  Harry  St.  John  is  falling  in  love  as  rapidly  as  it  is 
possible  to  go  through  that  ceremony. 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  85 

CHAPTER  XV. 

BONNYBEL   LOOKS   IN   A   MIKEOK   AND    LAUGHS. 

THE  ladies  were  assembled  in  the  cheerful  breakfast  room, 
and  half  a  dozen  servants  were  placing  on  the  broad  table  a 
profusion  of  smoking  edibles,  contributing  to  the  perfection 
of  that  most  perfect  of  inventions,  a  Virginia  breakfast. 

St.  John  mixed  a  julep  with  the  skill  and  rapidity  of  an 
old  practitioner,  and  the  ladies,  having  each  taken  a  sip,  the 
parties  were  soon  seated  around  the  board,  Miss  Bonnybel 
behind  the  urn. 

"Did  Mr.  Alston  commence  his  toilet  when  you  did?" 
asked  the  young  lady,  innocently,  of  St.  John,  glancing,  as 
she  spoke,  demurely  at  the  stately  Helen;  "he  takes  as 
long  to  dress  as  a  girl,  and  Bel  Tracy  said,  the  other  day, 
that  he  was  no  better  than  one,  with  his  curls  and  per 
fumes  !" 

Helen,  with  a  dignified  toss  of  the  head,  intimates  her 
opinion  of  this  attack  upon  her  admirer,  but  says  nothing. 

"  Just  think  of  Mr.  Alston  on  horseback !"  continues  Bon 
nybel,  pouring  out,  "with  musquetoon,  and  saber,  heavy 
boots,  and  pistols,  going  to  the  wars  !  Now  you  all  frown 
at  me,  as  if  it  was  treason  to  doubt  that  the  elegant  Mr. 
Alston  would  leap  out  of  his  bed,  and  be  ready  at  sunrise, 
if  the  trumpet  called  to  horse !" 

"  I  doubt  that  myself,  my  dear  Miss  Bonnybel,"  said  the 
subject  of  the  conversation,  behind  the  young  lady ;  "  't  is 
only  the  breakfast  bell  that  rouses  me." 

And  Mr.  Alston,  in  snowy  ruffles,  and  serene  smiles,  saun 
ters  in  and  distributes  a  comprehensive  salute. 

"  Was  I  the  subject  of  discussion  ?"  he  says,  amiably. 
"  Chocolate,  if  you  please,  Miss  Bonnybel." 

"'Twas  Miss  Tracy's  epigram  about  you  that  was  re 
peated,"  says  St.  John. 


86  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

"  Ah,  Miss  Tracy  ?"  replies  his  friend.  "  A  fine  girl,  Miss 
Tracy — told  me  she  wished  she  was  a  man,  the  other  day." 

"  Well,  Tom,  she  said  she  regarded  you  no  more  than  a 
girl.  'Tis  only  reasonable  to  suppose  that  she  wishes  to 
change  her  condition  with  her  sex  and  marry  you.  Mr. 
Bel  Tracy,  on  the  10th,  to  Miss  Thomas  Alston,  daughter 
of,  and  so  forth,  in  the  '  Gazette !'  " 

Mr.  Alston  replies,  serenely, 

"  Delighted  to  marry  Miss  Bell  Tracy,  but  not  to  change 
my  sex." 

"  I  would,"  says  Bonnybel. 

"  You !"  says  St.  John  ;  "  pray  why  ?» 

"  Oh  we  'd  have  such  glorious  fox-hunts — I  and  the  other 
boys!"  cries  Bonnybel,  "and  such  a  jolly  frolic  after 
wards  1" 

The  air  of  the  young  lady,  while  she  utters  these  words, 
is  so  excellent  a  farce  that  even  Aunt  Mabel  laughs. 

"But,  you  will  permit  me,"  says  Mr.  Alston;  "what 
would  be  the  state  of  mind  of  your  adorers,  Miss  Bonnybel, 
for  doubtless  you  wish  to  marry  a  young  gentleman." 

"  No,  sir !     Pray  whom  ?" 

"Why,  let  us  say,  Will  Roan — why  not  espouse  that 
gentleman  ?" 

"  For  a  very  good  reason — he 's  not  asked  me !"  laughs 
the  young  lady ;  "  besides,  I  would  n't  if  he  did.  I  've  no 
desire  to  go  halves  in  his  aifections  with  the  thorough-bred 
he  's  had  the  goodness,  I  am  told,  to  call  '  Bonnybel,'  after 
me,  forsooth !" 

"  Well,  Roan  is  fond  of  horses.  But  there 's  Buck  Ran- 
ton.  He 's  a  fine  fellow ;  though  I  heard  an  aristocratic 
little  lady  in  town,  the  other  day,  declare  that  Mr.  Ranton's 
family  were  scarcely  '  good  enough  for  her — he  was  n't  an 
F.  F.  V.' " 

"  An  F.  F.  V.  ?  I  hate  that  new-fangled  phrase !"  cries 
Bonnybel,  "  and  I  think  the  young  lady  was  a  goose  !  I  say 
Mr.  Ranton  's  every  inch  a  gentleman,  and  I  do  n't  care  a  fig 
about  his  family !" 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  87 

"  Why  not  have  him  then,  my  dear  Madam  ?"  urges  Mr. 
Alston,  gently. 

Bonnybel  is  silent — Mr.  Ranton's  misadventure  being  very 
recent. 

"  Or  Charley  Fox,"  continues  the  gentleman,  smiling,  and 
sipping  his  chocolate;  "he  at  least  does  not  fill  his  mind 
with  horses  like  Mr.  Roan." 

"  But  he  does  with  his  namesakes,  the  foxes !"  says  Bon 
nybel.  '"Tis  even  more  humiliating  to  divide  with  fox 
hounds  than  horses.  Mr.  Fox's  wife  is  sure  to  be  the  keep 
er  of  the  kennels!" 

"  Say  Mr.  Lindon,  then." 

The  girl's  face  clouds,  and  she  says,  coldly, 

"  I  do  not  like  Mr.  Lindon." 

"  Well,  well,"  says  Mr.  Alston,  "  then  I  will  not  further 
annoy  you,  unless  you  will  permit  me  to  suggest  the  names 
of  your  friends,  Mr.  Randolph,  Mr.  Page,  Mr.  Pendleton, 
or  Mr.  Braxton;  I  believe  they  all  come  occasionally  to 
see  you,  do  they  not  ?" 

A  smile  runs  around  the  table,  and  for  a  moment  there  is 
silence.  Mr.  Alston  has  given  an  accurate  catalogue  of  the 
slain  and  wounded,  for  whose  condition  Miss  Bonnybel  is 
responsible — for  all  these  gentlemen  have  met  with  bad 
fortune  at  Vanely. 

Bonnybel,  however,  is  a  true  woman — that  is  to  say,  she 
finds  no  difficulty  in  commanding  her  countenance. 

"Did  you  ask  if  these  gentlemen  were  my  friends?"  she 
says,  with  the  most  dove-like  innocence,  "  and  if  they  ever 
came  to  see  me  ?  Yes,  they  do,  sometimes,  sir." 

Mr.  Alston  gently  inclines  his  head,  sipping  his  chocolate. 

"I  thought  I  had  seen  them  here  once  or  twice,"  he 
replies,  "  though  not  very  frequently  of  late.  However,  I 
suppose  they  have  one  and  all  been  detained  by  some  little 
accident." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  says  Miss  Bonnybel,  with  innocent 
curiosity ;  "  but  while  I  think  of  it,  pray  how  do  you  gen 
tlemen  propose  to  spend  the  morning  ?" 


88  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

Mr.  Alston  acquiesces  in  the  change  of  topic,  and  says 
with  graceful  ease, 

"  I  think  I  shall  bestow  my  poor  society  on  Miss  Helen, 
if  she  is  not  afraid  of  being  thrown  into  a  fit  of  yawning." 

"  And  I  will  ride  out  with  you  if  you  wish,"  says  St.  John 
to  Bonnybel. 

This  arrangement  is  acquiesced  in,  and  the  breakfast 
ends.  Aunt  Mabel  retires  to  her  chamber  to  supervise  the 
"  cutting  out,"  Miss  Seraphina  to  peruse  the  last  romance 
brought  from  London,  and  the  young  men  to  smoke  pipes 
and  look  at  the  horses.  The  Vauely  stables  boast  many 
thorough-breds,  and  more  than  one  racer  in  full  training. 

St.  John  had  that  passion  for  fine  horses  characteristic  of 
the  soil,  and  with  a  corn-cob  pipe  between  his  lips,  in  the 
midst  of  a  crowd  of  stable-boys,  who  respectfully  greeted 
him  as  an  old  friend  and  favorite,  discoursed  at  great  length 
to  Tom  Alston  on  the  points  of  the  animals,  as  they  were 
led  out,  and  stepped  proudly  onward,  in  the  sunshine. 

The  last  was  a  bay  filly  of  elegant  proportions,  and  this  he 
ordered  to  be  saddled  for  Bonnybel,  whose  property  it  was. 

Soon  afterwards — Tom  Alston  having  sauntered  back  to 
the  drawing-room — the  young  man,  mounted  on  his  fine 
"  Tallyho,"  was  flying  along  a  winding  road  of  the  Vanely 
woods  by  the  side  of  his  cousin. 

It  is  said  that  ball-rooms,  parlors,  and  social  haunts  in 
general,  are  unpropitious  for  certain  emotions.  Either 
something  distracts  the  attention  or  the  atmosphere  is 
unfavorable  to  romance.  It  is  added  that  it  is  extremely 
dangerous,  however,  to  a  young  man  to  ride  alone,  with 
a  lovely  cousin  in  a  beautiful  forest. 

In  the  case  of  Harry  St.  John  this  proved  true.  After 
that  ride,  he  felt  with  a  sort  of  fearful  happiness,  a  rueful 
delight,  that  his  fate  was  sealed.  As  they  galloped  on,  his 
eyes  were  unconsciously  riveted  on  the  mischievous  little 
beauty,  who,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  rippling  curls,  and  slen 
der  figure,  undulating  in  the  close-fitting  riding-habit,  re 
sembled  rather  a  wild  nymph  of  the  woods  than  a  mortal 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  89 

maiden.  Every  word  she  uttered  was  a  jest  or  an  excla 
mation  ;  she  performed  a  thousand  antics  on  her  steed  ;  the 
very  spirit  of  the  laughing  audacious  spring  seemed  to  flush 
her  blood.  The  perfume  of  a  thousand  flowers  crammed 
the  balmy  air  with  fragrance  ;  the  birds  sang  joyfully  from 
the  oakes  and  pines;  the  leaves  whispered  in  the  river 
breeze,  and  cast  a  fitful  shadow  on  them  as  they  moved. 

Our  chronicle  would  grow  to  ponderous  length,  if  we 
paused  to  record  the  witty  nothings  uttered  by  Miss  Bonny- 
bel ;  her  careless  and  sparkling  jests,  pointed  with  laughter, 
and  bright  glances  of  coquettish  eyes.  "We  must  leave  the 
conversation  unrecorded.  All  lived,  however,  in  the  young 
man's  recollection,  and  this  ride  became  one  of  the  most  de 
lightful  treasures  of  his  memory, 

Three  hours  were  spent  thus  ;  then  the  heads  of  the  horses 
were  turned  toward  home.  At  the  great  gate  they  encoun 
tered  the  chariot,  and  were  gaily  greeted  by  the  jovial  old 
colonel,  who  had  been  detained  over  night  at  the  house  of 
one  of  his  neighbors. 

They  stopped  but  a  moment ;  leaving  the  ponderous  chariot 
to  follow  at  its  leisure,  they  sped  up  the  hill,  and  the  foam 
ing  horses  were  checked  before  the  great  portico. 

In  helping  the  young  lady  to  the  ground,  St.  John  did 
even  more  than  his  duty.  He  quietly  took  her  in  his  arms 
and  lifted  her  from  the  saddle,  receiving  a  box  on  the  cheek 
for  his  pains,  given  and  received  with  laughter. 

Bonnybel  then  gathered  her  long  skirt  in  her  hand,  and 
ran  up  stairs  to  her  chamber.  It  might  have  been  supposed 
that  her  object  was  to  lay  aside  her  habit,  but  her  first  pro 
ceeding  was  singular.  She  went  to  the  large  mirror,  turned 
herself  from  side  to  side  before  it,  surveying,  from  every 
point  of  view,  her  graceful  face,  her  curls,  her  cheeks,  her 
very  dimples ;  then,  with  a  proud  and  triumphant  toss  of 
her  little  head,  and  a  confidential  nod,  the  maiden  threw 
aside  her  chip  hat,  and  letting  fall  her  beautiful  brown  hair, 
uttered  a  low  laugh. 

Can  any  of  our  fair  readers  tell  us  what  she  meant  ? 


90  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE    NEWS    FROM    BOSTON. 

THE  profuse  dinner  is  nearly  over,  and  nothing  remains 
upon  the  wide  table  but  the  nuts  and  wine. 

Leaning  one  arm  upon  the  board,  and  pushing  about  the 
port  and  Canary,  Colonel  Vane,  with  features  which  gradu 
ally  flush  with  anger,  addresses  the  two  young  men : 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  you  have  a  right  to  be  astonished !" 
he  says,  "  and  I  share  your  astonishment." 

"  But 't  is  not  in  the  last  '  Gazette,'  "  says  Mr.  St.  John. 
"  How  could  the  intelligence  have  arrived  ?" 

"  Well,  it  arrived  through  a  private  channel,  but  a  reli 
able  one.  An  emissary,  who  never  deceives,  announced  it 
yesterday  at  the  court  house,  and  there  is  no  longer  any 
doubt  of  it.  Yes,  things  at  last  approach  an  issue.  Gov 
ernment  enacts  that,  after  the  first  day  of  June,  the  harbor 
of  Boston  shall  be  closed  by  armed  troops,  her  shipping 
shah1  rot  in  the  bay,  her  streets  be  thronged  with  red  coats, 
and  martial  law  prevail !  What  think  you,  gentlemen  of 
the  colony  of  Virginia,  of  this  blow  at  our  beloved  sister 
province  of  Massachusetts  Bay  ?" 

"I  think  't  is  a  despotic  and  base  exercise  of  power  "  says 
St.  John,  "  and  I  'd  resist  at  all  hazards." 

"  And  I  agree  with  you,  Harry,"  says  Mr.  Alston,  "  to 
the  letter." 

"  You  are  right,  gentlemen,"  said  the  old  planter ;  "  and 
no  North  American  can  see  Massachusetts  holding  out  her 
hand  without  aiding  her.  Whatever  touches  her,  touches 
Virginia,  nay,  touches  all  the  colonies,  for  this  tyrannical 
edict  is  but  the  entering  wedge !  If  it  does  not  arm  the 
colonies,  then  they  will  lie  down  in  chains  for  ever  !  Miser 
able  and  woful  times !  tyrants  and  knaves  banded  against 
honest  men !"  cries  the  old  gentleman,  dashing  down  his 
glass,  wrathfully.  "  I  '11  buckle  on  my  sword  and  fight  for 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  91 

the  cause  in  the  ranks,  as  a  common  soldier,  before  I  '11  forget 
that  I  'm  a  Virginia  gentleman,  and  grovel  in  the  dust,  and 
lick  the  boots  of  North  and  his  yelping  beagles.  And  not 
even  tyrannical  edicts  will  answer  !  We  are  to  be  whipped 
into  submission  by  this  General  Gage,  commander  of  his 
Majesty's  forces  in  the  provinces !  He  is  to  cut  and  hack 
us  to  pieces  if  we  dare  to  murmur  !  By  Heaven !  we  are 
slaves  indeed  !  We,  the  descendants  of  Englishmen,  with 
the  strong  arms  of  our  forefathers,  and  their  liberty  as  Brit 
ish  subjects !  We  who  fought  for  the  king  on  a  hundred 
battle  fields,  and  poured  out  our  best  blood  like  water  for 
our  sovereigns  ;  sovereigns  that  never  gave  us  any  thing  to 
bind  our  wounds,  although  we  served  them  generation  after 
generation,  as  kings  were  never  served !  We  Englishmen 
are  to  be  trodden  down  and  ti'ampled  on  like  a  pack  of  curs, 
and  whipped  back  to  our  places  by  this  body  of  time  servers, 
who  are  rolling  yonder  in  their  wealth,  and  making  laws  to 
bind  the  chains  upon  our  limbs,  as  though  we  were  their 
serfs !  Damn  my  blood  !"  cries  the  colonel,  striking  the 
table  with  his  fist,  "  I  '11  give  half  my  estate  to  arm  a  com 
pany,  and  I  '11  march  myself  at  the  head  of  it,  if  Cato  has  to 
hold  me  on  my  crutches." 

During  the  course  of  this  explosive  address,  which  was 
terminated  by  a  sudden  attack  upon  the  colonel's  foot  by 
his  old  enemy,  Mr.  St.  John  leaned  back  in  his  seat,  and, 
with  folded  arms,  revolved,  in  the  depth  of  his  mind,  the 
significance  of  this  new  blow  at  the  colonies. 

Was  it  not  foreseen  or  even  reported  by  its  movers,  by 
secret  dispatches  to  Lord  Dunmore,  and  had  not  this  fact 
something  to  do  with  the  existence  of  his  Excellency's 
"  guards"  at  the  palace  gate — soldiers  who  recognized  no 
other  allegiance  than  that  due  to  their  master,  and  who,  if 
need  be,  would  be  employed  to  awe  the  inhabitants  of  Wil- 
liamsburg  and  the  House  of  Burgesses  ? 

And  he  was  the  commander  of  this  body !  He  who 
swore  by  the  code  which  the  old  gentleman  had  just  pro 
claimed,  who  rated  his  dignity  of  honest  gentleman  as 


92  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

high  as  that  of  a  peer  of  the  realm,  who  was  ready  to 
pour  out  his  blood  for  the  preservation  of  his  most  trivial 
right — he,  Henry  St.  John,  was  in  the  pay  of  his  Excel, 
lency ! 

The  young  man's  brow  clouded  and  his  eyes  flashed. 

"  You  are  right,  uncle,"  he  said,  "  't  is  a  bitter  draught 
they  hold  to  our  lips  and  expect  us  to  drink.  I  predict  that 
this  act  will  open  the  eyes  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  colony, 
and  that  there  will  soon  be  a  struggle  for  supremacy  with 
Lord  Dunmore.  In  that  cause,  I,  for  one,  know  which  side 
I  '11  be  ranged  on.  I  've  long  felt  that  my  position  yonder 
was  slavery,  and  nothing  but  disinclination  to  retreat  from 
my  post  in  the  service  of  the  government,  threatened  with 
Indian  troubles,  has  kept  me  from  resigning  what  has  come 
to  be  a  menial's  miserable  routine !  Lord  Dunmore  has  de 
ceived  me,  sir,  in  a  manner  wholly  unworthy  of  a  gentleman, 
and  I  '11  tell  him  so,  if  need  be.  Yes,  sir  !  if  the  struggle 's 
here  in  Virginia,  I  '11  myself  cheerfully  brace  on  my  sword, 
and  strike  as  hard  blows  as  I  'm  able  in  the  contest  against 
this  detestable  tyranny !  I  am  more  than  of  your  way  of 
thinking,  sir.  For  this  body  of  men  across  the  water  to  bo 
forcing  down  our  throats  every  nauseous  dose  they  choose ! 
binding  us  hand  and  foot  with  chains,  no  doubt  to  lash  us 
the  better,  and  so  force  us  along  the  king's  highway,  drag 
ging  at  our  heels  the  lumbering  parliament  coach,  with  my 
Lord  North  and  his  family  inside  !  I  '11  no  more  wear  their 
harness  than  I  '11  longer  don  the  livery  of  his  Excellency, 
which  I  'm  fixed  to  discard  and  throw  from  me,  as  a  plague 
garment !  I  '11  be  no  nobleman's  dog,  to  hunt  his  prey  and 
do  his  dirty  work ;  I  '11  not  be  this  man's  lackey — a  vulgar 
fellow,  in  my  humble  opinion,  neither  more  nor  less,  and  I  '11 
say  it  to  his  face,  if  I  'm  provoked  to  it !" 

St.  John  stopped,  red,  angry  and  disdainful,  thinking  of 
the  scene  at  the  palace. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  colonel,  relieved  by  his  explosion, 
"  let  us  not  speak  evil  of  dignitaries,  Harry.  I  confess  I  do 
not  like  Lord  Dunmore,  but  he  is  Governor." 


HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  93 

St.  John  made  a  motion  of  his  head,  indicating  his  willing 
ness  to  dismiss  so  distasteful  a  subject. 

"  All  I  have  to  say,  sir,"  he  added,  "  is  that  things  in  Vir 
ginia  seem  to  be  progressing,  and  we  '11  probably  have  an 
act  of  Parliament  for  our  own  special  behoof  ere  long." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  who  seemed  to  re 
gret  his  momentary  outburst,  "  we  shall  see." 

"  If  I  am  not  much  mistaken,  sir,  his  Excellency  will  en 
deavor  to  make  us  shut  our  eyes  as  long  as  possible,  and  use 
his  skill  to  make  us  believe  black  's  white.  Yes,  sir,  we  shall 
see,  and  perhaps  we  shall  do  more — we  shall  fight !" 

There  was  silence  after  these  words,  and  the  colonel  filled 
his  glass  and  pushed  the  wine. 

"Perhaps  we  will  not  find  in  his  lordship  a  tool  of  the 
ministry,  Harry,"  he  said,  "  and  my  old  blood  flushes  up 
too  hotly.  I  should  set  you  youngsters  a  better  example 
than  rashness.  You  are  already  too  full  of  fight.  I  remem 
ber  Lord  Botetourt  said  to  me  one  day  that  he  'd  throw, 
his  appointment  into  the  Atlantic  rather  than  aid  in  enforc 
ing  upon  Virginia  a  tyrannical  regulation  of  Parliament ; 
and  who  knows  but  the  like  public  spirit  may  exist  in  the 
bosom  of  Lord  Dunmore ;  at  least 't  is  time  lost  to  specu 
late  at  present.  Let  us  hold  in,  and  watch  the  action  of  the 
House  of  Burgesses.  If  they  proceed  to  the  resolves  which 
become  them,  they  will  come  to  a  point,  and  his  Excellency 
will  have  to  show  his  hand." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  St.  John,  "  and  I  predict  that  you'll  see 
a  card  up  his  sleeve." 

The  old  gentleman  smiled. 

"Well,  well,  Harry,"  he  said,  "we  won't  charge  him 
with  cheating  till  we  see  it ;  and  then  it  will  be  time  enough 
to  outlaw  him.  Thank  Heaven,  we  have  noble  players  in  the 
game !  There's  Bland,  and  Pendleton,  and  Harrison,  and 
Henry,  a  host  in  themselves,  especially  this  last,  who  's  an 
absolute  thunderbolt.  There 's  Lee,  and  Randolph,  and 
Nicholas,  and  Gary,  all  gentlemen  of  conspicuous  talents. 
Mr.  Jefferson  from  the  mountains,  too,  goes,  I  'm  told,  all 


94  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

lengths,  and  is  of  extraordinary  political  genius.  We  roust 
not  forget  Colonel  Washington,  whose  fine  house  at  Mount 
Vernon  is  so  delightfully  situated  on  the  Potomac.  You 
know  how  heroically  he  fought  in  the  expedition  against 
Fort  Duquesne,  in  which  I  am  told  he  gave  General  Brad- 
dock  advice  which  it  had  been  well  for  that  ill-fated  gen 
tleman  to  've  taken.  Certainly  Colonel  Washington  is  of 
admirable  presence,  and  there  is  I  know  not  Avhat  of  majes 
ty  in  his  deportment,  and  grandeur  in  the  carriage  of  his 
head.  I  think  we  have  a  worthy  body  of  gentlemen  en 
gaged  at  present  in  our  public  affairs,  and  history  may  yet 
dwell  on  our  period  and  its  characters,  and  future  genera 
tions  may  erect  statues  to  these  patriotic  leaders  of  opinion. 
Certainly  they  do  seem  to  possess  remarkable  unanimity  in 
distrusting  his  lordship.  But  let  us  wait,  Harry,  and  not 
try  his  Excellency  before  he  is  caught  with  the  bloody  hand 
— an  unfortunate  illustration  I  have  fallen  on,  but — " 

"  It 's  apt,  sir." 

The  colonel  shook  his  head  in  a  good-humored  way  and 
smiled. 

"  No,  no,  Harry,"  he  said,  "  let  us  be  just  to  all  men ;  let 
us  not  forget  that  moderation  is  the  most  fatal  enemy  of 
despotism,  until  it  throws  off  its  disguise.  Then  there  's 
time  enough  to  gird  on  the  sword.  My  preaching  and 
practicing  are,  I  confess,  somewhat  different  on  the  present 
occasion,  and  I  've  set  you  a  bad  example.  But  the  old 
hound  growls  the  loudest,  you  know,  because  he  's  got  no 
teeth,  and  thinks  every  shadow  reason  for  alarm.  There, 
there,  Harry,  let  us  leave  all  this  to  the  future,  and  to  that 
Almighty  Power  in  whose  hand  are  the  balances  of  fate — 
the  issue  of  peace  and  war !" 

St.  John  bowed  his  head,  and  was  silent. 

"  I  '11  go  take  my  nap  now,  boys,"  added  the  old  gentle 
man,  smiling  pleasantly  ;  "  that  road  to  the  river  's  all  fixed, 
and  I  shall  sleep  with  a  good  conscience,  and  have  pleasant 
dreams,  I  trust." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  good-humored  speech, 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  95 

the  old  gentleman  emptied  the  remainder  of  his  glass  of 
Canary,  and,  assisted  by  Bonnybel,  who  ran  to  give  him  her 
shoulder,  limped  from  the  room  into  the  library  upon  the 
opposite  side  of  the  hall. 

Here,  composing  himself  comfortably  in  his  customary 
arm-chair,  with  the  gouty  foot  across  another,  the  worthy 
colonel  covered  his  face  with  a  copy  of  the  "  Virginia  Ga 
zette,"  and  very  soon  was  slumbering  like  an  infant. 


CHAPTEK   XVII. 

THE  MODEL  OF  A  PERFECT  LOVEK. 

WE  have  repeated  the  conversation  upon  the  subject  of 
the  new  Act  of  Parliament,  and  we  now  proceed  to  say, 
that  at  Vanely,  as  elsewhere  in  that  earnest  period,  action 
followed  theory. 

When  the  family  descended  on  the  next  morning,  they 
saw  ranged  in  a  long  row  upon  the  sideboard,  the  japanned 
tea-canisters  of  the  house,  all  hermetically  sealed,  with  the 
Vanely  seal  upon  the  wax.* 

This  ceremony  had  been  performed  by  Miss  Bonnybel, 
under  the  colonel's  supervision,  and  from  that  time  forth, 
until  the  end  of  the  revolutionary  troubles,  no  tea  was  drunk 
at  Vanely,  as  happened  at  a  thousand  other  places  all  over 
the  colony. 

After  breakfast,  Mr.  St.  John  and  the  colonel  went  to 
witness  some  operations  upon  the  lands,  and  Mr.  Alston,  as 
usual,  betook  himself  to  the  sitting-room. 

We  have  busied  ourselves  so  exclusively  with  the  say 
ings  and  doings  of  two  personages  of  our  story,  that  Mr. 
Thomas  Alston's  adventures  have  not  been  even  adverted  to. 

We  say  adventures,  for  during  all  these  hours  at  Vauely 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  VI. 


96  HESTRY   ST.    JOHN,    GEXTLEMAKT. 

Mr.  Alston  has  been  far  from  idle,  and  has  vigorously  ap 
plied  himself  to  the  prosecution  of  an  undertaking  which 
we  have  scarcely  hinted. 

Let  us  still  forbear  to  intrude  upon  this  gentleman's  pri 
vate  interviews  with  his  friend  ;  let  us  respectfully  retreat 
when  he  closes,  on  this  eventful  morning,  the  sitting-room 
door  upon  himself  and  that  friend ;  let  us  go  and  return 
with  Mr.  St.  John  and  Colonel  Vane,  who  get  back  in  their 
light  carriage  after  an  hour  or  two. 

Mr.  Alston's  sulky  stands  at  the  door — his  horse's  head 
held  respectfully  by  a  groom. 

To  the  colonel's  question,  whether  Mr.  Alston  intends 
to  depart,  his  friend,  Mr.  St.  John,  replies  that  he  has  not 
been  advised  of  such  intention ;  and  learning  soon  that  his 
friend  has  gone  up  stairs,  he  follows  him,  and  finds  him 
there. 

Mr.  Alston  is  seated  in  an  easy-chair,  with  one  foot  upon 
the  window  sill,  the  other  being  elegantly  thrown  over  his 
knee. 

He  is  gazing  philosophically  out  upon  the  landscape,  and 
nods  with  tranquil  greeting  to  his  friend. 

"  What,  Tom !"  St.  John  says,  "  surely  yoTi  're  not  going 
away  :  seeing  your  sulky — " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  '11  go,  Harry,  my  boy,"  says  Mr.  Alston, 
leaning  back  easily. 

"Why,  pray?" 

"  For  two  reasons." 

"  Name  them,  in  order  that  I  may  instantly  refute  them." 

A  serene  smile  wanders  over  Mr.  Tom  Alston's  counte 
nance,  and  he  regards  his  friend  with  quiet  superiority,  as 
of  one  impregnable. 

"  Do  you  think  you  '11  be  able,  Harry,  my  boy  ?"  he  asks. 

"  I  am  confident  of  it." 

Mr.  Alston  smiles  and  shakes  his  head. 

"  Come,  speak !"  says  St.  John. 

"  You  want  my  reasons  ?" 

"  Yes,  both  at  once,  if  you  choose." 


HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  97 

"I  prefer  mentioning  them  in  succession,  Harry,"  says 
Mr.  Alston,  "  if  it 's  all  the  same." 

"Entirely:  well  the  first?" 

"  My  first  reason  for  departing  from  this  elegant  abode 
of  the  muses  and  the  graces,"  says  Mr.  Alston,  eloquently, 
"  is  the  absolute  necessity  I  'm  under  of  procuring  a  clean 
frill,  let  us  say.  Can  you  answer  that  ?" 

"  Easily — you  know  my  whole  wardrobe 's  at  your  service." 

Mr.  Alston  shakes  his  head  in  the  old  way. 

"  Unfortunately  your  garments  do  not  fit  me,  Harry,"  he 
replies,  "  and  nothing  but  regard  for  your  feelings  has  pre 
vented  me  from  revealing  the  misery  I  've  experienced  from 
the  frill  I  borrowed  of  you  yesterday." 

"  Why,  there  's  none  better  in  London  !" 

"  You  're  deceiving  yourself,  my  dear  friend — you  do  in 
deed  !"  says  Mr.  Alston,  almost  earnestly ;  "  indeed  you  are 
mistaken  !  Were  it  not  from  regard  for  your  friendship  I 
should  feel  compelled  to  say  that  your  linen's  absolutely 
terrible !» 

St.  John  laughs. 

"  Well,"  he  says,  "  there's  no  appealing  from  a  matter  of 
taste.  Mutato  nomine  de  te,  you  know,  and  I  '11  wager  that 
the  weaknesses  in  my  own  wardrobe  are  shared  by  your 
own.  But  there  remains  the  reason  in  reply,  that  you  may 
easily  have  clothes  brought  to  you  from  Moorefield." 

"  I  fear  not." 

"  Why  ?» 

"  They  would  necessarily  be  rumpled,  and  to  wear  a  rum 
pled  frill  plunges  me  into  untold  agony." 

*'  Hang  it,  Tom,"  says  St.  John,  laughing,  "  you  'ro  really 
the  most  perfect  maccaroni  I  have  ever  seen.  There 's  no 
arguing  with  such  a  fop — dyed  in  the  grain !" 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  pain  me,"  says  Mr.  Alston,  mildly  ; 
"pray,  do  n't  pursue  this  mode  of  talking." 

"  Well,  that  is  as  you  choose.  Come,  what 's  your  second 
famous  reason  for  departing  ?  I  predict  I  '11  easily  refute 
this  one  at  least." 

5 


98  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

• 

Mr.  Alston  smiles. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  he  says. 

"  I  am  confident  of  it." 

Mr.  Alston  nods  serenely,  and  is  silent. 

"  Come  speak,  thou  unconscionable  Sphynx !  Thou  enig 
ma  of  mystery,  unfold  thy  logic." 

Mr.  Alston  smiles  again. 

"  I  will  ask  you  a  question  first,  my  dear  Harry,"  he  says. 
"  If  you  had  laid  siege  to  a  fortress  for  many  months — had 
plied  the  enemy  with  your  heaviest  chain  shot,  and  red-hot 
cannon  balls — if  you  had  sounded  the  trumpet  at  last,  and 
so  advanced  bravely  to  the  assault  with  your  colors  flying, 
and  your  charger  neighing — and  in  this,  the  final  and  con 
clusive  onset,  been  ignomiuiously  beaten  back — do  you  un 
derstand  ?" 

"  Yes,  so  far." 

"  I  ask,  under  such  a  state  of  things,  would  you  be  likely 
to  remain  in  presence  of  the  victorious  enemy  ;  be  cut,  and 
hacked,  and  wounded  ;  worse  still,  be  cut  to  pieces  and  dis 
posed  of  in  a  bloody  ti'ench,  as  some  one  of  my  friends,  the 
poets,  says  ?  Answer  me,  or  rather  do  n't,  for  I  see,  from 
your  dumb-foundered  look,  that  my  reasoning  has  been  con 
clusive." 

And  Mr.  Alston  smooths  his  peruke  gently,  smiling. 

"  You  do  n't  mean  to  say — "  cries  St.  John,  with  an  out 
burst. 

"  I  do  indeed,  my  friend.  I  have  the  honor  of  observing 
that  this  morning  my  addresses  were  respectfully  declined 
by  Mistress  Helen,  and  you  behold,  really,  the  most  unfor 
tunate  of  men !" 

St.  John  stands,  for  a  moment,  looking  at  his  friend  in 
silence  ;  his  friend  returns  the  look  with  pleasing  smiles. 

"  Well,  Tom,"  says  St.  John,  "  I  will  say  that  you  are  the 
most  philosophical  discarded  lover  I  have  ever  seen." 

"  Philosophical  ?» 

"  Intensely." 

"  Why,  Harry,  my  boy,  you  do  n't  think  that  propriety 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN  99 

requires  me  to  strew  ashes  on  my  head,  do  you  ?  If  you 
think  so,  there  's  the  fire-place,  and,  doubtless,  sackcloth  is 
convenient." 

"  What  a  philosopher !"  cries  his  frieud  in  admiration. 

"  Well,  well,  I  arrogate  no  praise.  Why  should  I  ? 
Why  should  I  pull  a  long  face  and  groan  ?  My  friend,  't  is 
the  fortune  of  war,  and  I  add,  in  the  unsuspecting  and  con 
fiding  simplicity  of  my  nature,  that  this  event  has  happened 
to  me  with  the  same  young  lady  twice  before.  This  should, 
doubtless,  be  estimated  in  the  matter,  for,  you  see,  I  am 
used  to  it." 

St.  John  received  this  declaration  with  a  burst  of  laugh 
ter. 

"  And  you  are  not  desperate  ?"  he  says. 

"  Not  at  all.  After  that  decent  interval  which  propriety 
requires,  I  shall  again  request  Miss  Helen's  acceptance  of 
my  hand,  and  if  she  refuses,  I  shall  probably  ask  her  again. 
Who  knows  ?  Some  day  I  am  likely  to  win  her,  and  she 's 
worth  the  trouble.  She  's  no  soft  peach,  my  boy,  ready  to 
fall  into  your  mouth.  The  happy  fellow  who  gets  her  will 
be  obliged  to  shake  hard,  and,  you  see,  I  've  been  shaking. 
Perhaps  the  fruit 's  looser,  and  will  some  day  fall — patience, 
and  shuflle  the  cards  !" 

Having  delivered  himself  of  these  remarks,  Mr.  Alston 
rises  and  adds, 

"  I  waited  to  see  you,  Harry,  before  going,  and  I  hope 
you  '11  come  to  Moorefield.  soon.  If  you  're  here  a  week 
I  '11  probably  see  you  again,  as  I  've  promised  Miss  Helen 
to  repeat  my  visit.  There,  my  dear  boy,  do  n't  stare  and 
laugh  so.  One  would  think  you  were  surprised  at  such  a 
thing  as  a  young  fellow  's  making  the  attack  and  being  beat 
en.  I  confess  I  was  somewhat  precipitate.  I  thought  I 
saw  a  defect  in  the  wall  of  the  fortress — in  fact  Miss  Sera- 
phina  told  me  that  Miss  Helen  admired  my  peruke,  and 
thought  I  'd  make  a  very  amiable  husband.  I  should  not 
have  been  so  much  deceived — but  nothing 's  lost.  I  '11  soon 
be  back." 


100  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

And  after  the  young  men  had  exchanged  some  more  con 
versation — serene  on  Mr.  Alston's  part,  and  full  of  pent-up 
laughter  on  St.  John's — they  descended  to  the  hall. 

Mr.  Alston  went  round,  in  the  Virginia  fashion,  and  took 
separate  leave  of  everybody,  with  a  friendly  and  smiling  re 
mark  for  each. 

He  trusted  that  the  colonel's  gout  would  soon  leave  him, 
and  that  the  road  to  the  river  would  be  all  he  expected. 

He  hoped  Aunt  Mabel  would  not  have  a  return  of  her 
cough — these  colds  must  be  very  painful. 

He  thought  Miss  Seraphina's  coiffure  was  the  handsom 
est  he  'd  ever  seen. 

He  begged  Miss  Bonnybel  to  give  him  the  rose  in  her 
hair  or  one  of  the  two  in  her  cheeks. 

And  he  expressed  to  the  blushing  and  quiet  Helen  the 
most  graceful  thanks  for  the  thousand  kind  things  she  had 
done  for  him  during  his  most  delightful  visit — a  visit  which 
he  should  ever  continue  to  remember,  and  would  certainly 
repeat  before  many  days  had  passed. 

Having  gone  through  these  various  friendly  and  compli 
mentary  speeches,  Mr.  Alston  pressed  his  cocked  hat  on 
his  heart,  and  smiling  with  the  utmost  courtesy,  bowed 
low,  and  issued  forth. 

In  ten  minutes  his  light  sulky,  with  its  rapid  trotter,  had 
disappeared  in  the  forest,  was  seen  to  glitter  with  revolving 
flashes  on  the  road,  and  then  finally  it  disappeared,  carrying 
away  the  discarded  model  of  a  lover,  or  the  model  of  a  dis 
carded  lover,  whichever  our  fair  friends  please. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  101 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

HOW  ME.   LINDON   CAME  TO   AND   WENT   AWAY    FBOM 
VANELY. 

SEVEBAL  days  have  passed.  It  is  a  beautiful  May  morning. 
Bonnybel  and  St.  John  are  talking  together  in  the  sitting- 
room — a  habit  into  which  they  have  of  late  quietly  and 
tacitly  fallen. 

Bonnybel  sits  in  the  most  coquetish  attitude  upon  one  of 
the  old  carved-backed  sofas,  her  slender  figure  supported  by 
the  round,  bolster-like  pillow.  She  wears  a  light  blue  silk, 
and  around  her  bare  arms  falls  a  quantity  of  lace.  From 
the  skirt  of  her  azure  silk  peep  forth  in  the  most  acci 
dental  way  two  delicate  little  feet,  cased  in  white  silk 
stockings,  and  red  morocco  slippers,  with  high  heels  and 
rich  rosettes.  The  slender  ankles  are  gracefully  crossed — 
the  beautiful  feet  seem  wrapped  around  each  other,  so  to 
speak — an  ill-natured  critic  might  say  that  Miss  Bonnybel 
had  fixed  them  thus  for  her  companion's  inspection  and  ad 
miration. 

He  sits  at  her  side,  and  is  showing  her  a  book  of  engrav 
ings.  One  of  these  is  a  woman  weeping  upon  the  breast 
of  a  steel-clad  cavalier — the  illustration  of  some  border  bal 
lad. 

He  reads  to  her,  and — for  the  moment,  thoughtful — Bon- 
nybel's  eyes  are  weighed  down  with  an  impulsive  pity.  It 
is  a  tale  of  love,  devotion  and  death ;  and  as  he  reads,  she 
turns  upon  him  a  pair  of  violet  eyes  swimming  in  tears. 

No  word  is  uttered — the  volume  lies  on  her  lap — St.  John 
holds  her  unconscious  hand,  and  the  beautiful  face,  with  its 
large  eyes  full  of  tender  pity,  droops  slowly  and  uncon 
sciously  as  it  were,  toward  the  picture  of  the  woman  weep 
ing  in  her  husband's  arms. 

This  is  the  pretty  little  tableau,  when,  with  a  shock  which 
skakes  both  windows,  the  door  is  thrown  open,  and  a  tall, 


102  HENRY   ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

richly-clad  gentleman,  the  arrival  of  whose  splendid  equipage 
they  had  not  been  aware  of,  is  ushered  into  the  apartment. 
Bonnybel  rises  calmly  to  her  feet — closing  the  volume 
which  she  holds  in  her  hand — and  returns  the  low  sa 
lute  of  the  visitor  with  a  cold  and  ceremonious  inclination. 
Mr.  Lindon  will  pray  be  seated,  and  if  he  will  excuse  her  a 
moment,  she  will  retire  to  arrange  her  somewhat  infonnal 
toilette.  Mr.  Lindon,  she  believes,  is  acquainted  with  her 
cousin,  Mr.  St.  John. 

With  these  formal  sentences,  Miss  Bonnybel  moves  from 
the  apartment  and  goes  up  stairs  with  the  air  of  a  duchess 
subjected  to  an  intrusion. 

The  two  men  greeted  each  other  with  ceremonious  cold 
ness  ;  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Lindon  there  seemed  even  an  ex 
hibition  of  suppressed  and  somber  rage  at  the  changed 
demeanor  of  the  young  lady. 

He  was  a  tall,  powerful  man,  verging,  apparently,  on  forty, 
and  his  bearing  indicated  a  supercilious  and  yet  uneasy 
pride. 

In  a  few  moments  Colonel  Vane  entered,  and  soon  after 
wards  the  ladies  appeared.  Mr.  Lindon  did  not  seem  a 
great  favorite  with  these,  and  when  he  announced  his  inten 
tion  of  spending  the  day  and  night,  as  his  estates  lay  at  some 
distance,  the  intimation  did  not  appear  to  cause  any  one 
unusual  pleasure.  All  were  scrupulously  courteous  and  po 
lite,  but  nothing  more. 

In  Virginia,  where  cordiality  and  warmth,  in  the  recep 
tion  of  visitors,  are  a  standing  rule,  a  greeting  of  this  species 
always  indicates  dislike. 

We  have  heard  Miss  Bonnybel,  under  Mr.  Alston's  teas 
ing,  speak  coldly  of  the  visitor ;  let  us  endeavor  briefly  to 
exhibit  the  cause  of  this  coldness. 

Mr.  Lindon  was  the  only  son  of  an  English  Catholic  of 
ancient  family,  who  had  purchased  lands  on  the  South  Side. 
These  purchases  had  become  a  principality,  in  extent  and 
value,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  and  his  son  found  himself  the 
possessor  of  a  princely  estate.  Lindon  the  elder  had  been  a 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  103 

bigoted  Catholic  and  aristocrat  in  the  worst  sense  of  the 
term,  and  his  son  inherited  the  same  opinions.  He  honestly 
regarded  his  family  as  the  best  in  the  colony,  and  regarded 
rebellion  against  England  as  a  crime  of  the  deepest  die. 

Early  enabled  to  command  large  resources,  Mr.  Lindon 
had  plunged  at  once  into  every  species  of  vice  and  dissipa 
tion.  He  had  lost  immense  sums  at  the  card  table,  and  even 
had  been  charged  with  cheating.  More  than  one  hum 
ble  family  had  been  brought  to  misery  and  ruin  by  his  vices 
— and  he  was  liable,  at  times,  to  horrible  excesses  in  wine, 
which  had  already  greatly  impaired  his  vigorous  constitu 
tion.  His  character  was  a  strange  mixture  of  boldness  and 
cunning,  of  reckless  courage  and  hidden  treachery,  and 
the  influence  of  his  religious  training,  in  the  worst  tenets  of 
the  Jesuits,  was  very  discernible.  Under  an  aflectation  of 
chivalric  honor,  he  concealed  a  powerful  tendency  toward 
secret  scheming,  and  this  unfavorable  characteristic  already 
began  to  be  suspected  by  the  gentlemen  with  whom  his  po 
sition  enabled  him  to  associate. 

Mr.  Lindon  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Bonnybel  some 
months  before,  and  she  became  the  passion  of  his  life.  He 
paid  his  addresses  to  her  with  a  conquering  air,  however, 
and,  to  his  profound  surprise,  found  himself  at  once  dis 
carded. 

He  had  scarcely  been  able  to  restrain  an  explosion  of  rage 
and  astonishment ;  that  a  man  of  his  family  and  wealth 
should  be  refused,  was  wholly  incredible  to  him,  and  after  a 
month's  reflection,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  there  was 
some  misunderstanding  hi  the  matter. 

Let  us  pass  over  the  events  of  the  morning,  and  the  cere 
monious  dinner,  so  unlike  the  habitual  family  reunion,  full 
of  talk  and  laughter,  and  come  to  the  afternoon.  Perhaps 
we  shall  find  if  there  was  such  misunderstanding. 

The  meal  had  been  over  for  an  hour,  and  as  they  dined 
early  in  those  days,  Mr.  Lindon  solicited  the  company  of 
Miss  Bonnybel  for  a  walk.  The  young  lady  pouted,  but 
finding  it  would  be  discourteous  to  refuse,  consented,  hop- 


104  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

ing  to  induce  Mr.  St.  John  and  Helen  to  accompany  them. 
Helen  was  unwell,  however,  and  so,  in  no  favorable  humor 
toward  her  cavalier,  Bonnybel  was  soon  walking  with  Mr. 
Lindon  on  the  lawn. 

Mr.  Lindon's  cheeks  were  somewhat  flushed  with  the  wine 
he  had  been  drinking ;  but  the  Canary  of  the  colonel  seemed 
only  to  have  added  to  his  habitual  ceremony — his  uneasy  air 
of  haughty  defiance. 

"  We  have  a  fine  evening,  Miss  Vane,"  he  said,  settling 
his  chin  in  his  voluminous  white  cravat,  "  and  this  scene  re 
minds  me  of  that  at  my  estate  of '  Agincourt.'  " 

"  Does  it,  sir  ?"  she  said,  coldly. 

"  Yes  ;  it  was  so  called  by  my  father,  the  name  of  the 
family  hall,  in  England,  being  similar." 

Mr.  Lindon  settled  his  chin  deeper  in  his  white  cravat, 
and  added  : 

"  It  originated  after  the  great  battle  of  that  name.  Sir 
Howard  Lindon,  my  ancestor,  won  his  spurs  there,  though 
our  race  came  in  with  William  the  Conqueror." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  The  king,  in  recognition  of  Sir  Hov,  ard's  services, 
created  him  a  Knight  of  the  Bath,  which,  however,  he 
did  not  long  enjoy,  having  fallen  on  the  field  some  years 
after." 

"  You  do  not  retain  the  title,  I  believe,  sir,"  Bonnybel 
said,  coldly,  forcing  herself  to  say  something. 

"  I  do  not,  having  no  right,  I  fear,  madam.  It  is  hard  to 
be  thus  deprived  of  what 's  honestly  my  due." 

Bonnybel  inclined. 

"  Like  many  other  noble  families,"  said  Mr.  Lindon,  rais 
ing  his  head  proudly,  "  we  have  suffered  misfortune,  and  of 
all  our  princely  possessions,  in  the  mother  country,  nothing 
remains.  It  is  true  that  my  place  of  'Agincourt'  is  not 
wholly  contemptible,  consisting  as  it  does  of  ten  or  twelve 
thousand  acres,  with  three  dwellings,  besides  the  manor 
house." 

And  Mr.  Lindon  settled  his  chin  again. 


HE  NET   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  105 

"  That  is  a  very  fine  estate,  I  should  think,  sir,"  said  Bon- 
nybel,  coldly. 

"  Yes,  tolerably  fine,  but  my  negroes,  a  thousand  in  num 
ber,  if  I  do  not  mistake,  are  badly  managed.  Still  I  can 
not  complain.  My  annual  income,  from  numerous  sources, 
is  some  fifteen  or  twenty  thousand  pounds  sterling,  and  I 
find  that  adequate  to  my  wants." 

"  It  is  a  very  handsome  income,  I  should  suppose,  sir." 

"  Vanely  is  not  quite  so  large  as  Agincourt,  I  believe, 
madam  ?" 

"lam  sure 'tis  not,  sir,"  said  Bonnybel,  quite  calmly; 
"  though  I  do  not  know  the  extent  of  papa's  grounds." 

"  Vanely  is  very  richly  cultivated." 

"  Is  it,  sir  ?" 

"  Very — but  you  will  pardon  me  for  saying  that  I  did  not 
come  hither,  upon  this  occasion,  to  compare  plantation  views 
with  Colonel  Vane,  madam." 

"  You  did  not,  sir  ?" 

"  No,  Miss  Vane,  and  I  think  you  do  not  misunderstand 
me." 

Mr.  Lindon's  stately  ceremony  did  not  melt  at  all  as  he 
thus  spoke.  Bonnybel  made  no  reply. 

Mr.  London  was  silent  for  some  moments  too,  then  he 
said, 

"  I  observed  that  this  scene  of  hill  and  meadow,  oak  forest 
and  pine,  reminded  me  of '  Agincourt,'  and  I  often  sit  upon 
my  portico  and  think  of  Vanely." 

"Do  you,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  madam,  and  I  will  add,  of  yourself." 

Bonnybel  inclined  her  head  silently,  and  prepared  for  the 
rest. 

"  Since  I  had  the  misfortune  to  be  deprived  for  a  time 
of  your  society" — this  was  Mr.  Lindon's  graceful  paraphrase 
of  his  discardal — "I  have  not  been  able  to  banish  your 
image  from  my  mind,  Miss  Vane." 

Bonnybel  was  still  silent  and  cold. 

"  I  have  found  no  one  to  supply  your  place,"  continued 
5* 


106  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

Mr.  Lindon,  with  a  look  of  increasing  condescension,  "  and 
you  will  thus  scarcely  be  surprised  to  find  that  I  have  re 
turned  to  ask  if  you  have  not  seen  reason  to  change  your 
determination.  Do  not  speak  yet,  Miss  Vane — you  seem 
about  to — I  desire  you  to  ponder  before  replying.  It  is 
proper  that  I  should  repeat  that  I  am  the  possessor  of  a  great 
estate,  and  this  fact  can  not  be  destitute  of  weight  with  a 
young  lady  of  your  excellent  sense.  Of  my  family,  I  think, 
I  need  not  speak,"  he  said  loftily,  "  but  I  should  of  more 
material  things.  As  my  wife,  you  will  have,  at  your  com 
mand,  every  luxury  which  wealth  can  purchase,  chariots, 
plate,  fine  horses,  and  assemblies  as  often  as  the  mistress  of 
'Agincourt'  pleases.  I  am  quite  willing,  if  you  desire  it,  to 
settle  upon  you  an  annual  amount  to  the  extent  of  one  third 
of  my  entire  income  ;  one  entire  third,  I  say,  madam,  and 
this  you  may  expend  in  such  manner  as  may  seem  suitable 
to  yourself.  It  is  proper  to  say  that  I  shall  require  my  sons 
to  embrace  the  faith  of  the  Catholic  Church,  unjustly  ex 
cluded  by  the  bigots  of  this  colony,  but  I  am  willing,  if  it  is 
desired,  to  permit  my  daughters  to  become  Protestants, 
either  of  the  established  Church  or  the  new  sect  of  Baptists, 
it  being  quite  indiiferent  to  me  whether  they  are  of  one  or 
the  other  persuasion,  if  they  are  not  of  the  true  church. 
With  these  conditions,  I  desire  to  leave  my  wife  wholly  to 
her  own  views  in  every  matter,  and  I  will  compel  all  who 
are  around  her  to  yield  to  her  wishes.  If  Miss  Vane  has 
any  desire  to  change  her  former  decision,  she  has  now 
an  opportunity,  and  I  need  scarcely  add  that  her  affirm 
ative  decision  will  be  a  source  of  much  satisfaction  to  my 
self." 

Having  finished  his  speech,  Mr.  Lindon  again  buried  his 
chin,  in  a  stately  way,  in  his  neckcloth,  and  was  silent. 

Bonnybel  did  not  speak  for  some  moments,  and  then  she 
merely  said,  struggling  successfully  against  her  anger  and 
indignant  scorn, 

"  I  am  surprised,  sir,  that  you  should  have  again  renewed 
this  proposition,  and — " 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  lOfv 

He  interrupted  her  more  grandly  and  ceremoniously  than 
ever,  and  said,  with  a  motion  of  his  hand, 

"  Your  surprise  is  quite  natural,  Miss  Vane.  I  can  under 
stand  that  you  naturally  feared  that  I  would  not  return, 
having  treated  me,  upon  our  last  interview,  with  a  coldness 
which  I  am  sure  you  have  regretted.  You  are  right,  madam. 
Men  of  my  stamp  seldom  renew  a  proposition  of  this  descrip 
tion,  and  there  is  room  for  some  astonishment  in  the  pres 
ent  instance.  But  I  have  set  my  mind  upon  seeing  you  pre 
side  at  my  house  of  *  Agincourt,'  and  your  rebuff  has  not  re 
pelled  me.  You,  no  doubt,  regretted  it,  and  I  desire  to  afford 
you  an  opportunity  of  reconsidering  your  determination." 

His  tone  was  so  insulting  with  its  stately  condescension 
now,  that  Bonnybel  blushed  with  speechless  indignation. 

Mr.  Lindon  misunderstood  the  origin  of  this  emotion,  and 
said,  in  the  same  patronizing  way, 

"  Do  not  permit  your  agitation  to  carry  you  away,  Miss 
Vane.  I  can  understand  that  you  did  not  expect  this,  and 
am  not  desirous  of  compelling  you  to  declare  your  regret  at 
our  misunderstanding  in  any  formal  manner.  "We  are  nearly 
at  the  portico  now,  and  I  beg  that  you  will  compose  your 
self.  A  simple  line,  as  I  depart  in  the  morning,  will  be  suf 
ficient,  and  if  I  may  suggest,  you  might  fix  as  early  a  day  as 
is  consistent  with  social  propriety.  I  shah1  be  very  happy  to 
have  your  cousin,  Mr.  St.  John,  as  my  first  groomsman, 
though  he  does  not  seem  weh1  affected  toward  the  govern 
ment,  and  may  cause  me  some  trouble  with  his  Excellency. 
I  beg  to  assure  you  that  in  any  such  contingency  I  shall  be 
most  happy  to  use  my  influence.  We  have  arrived,  madam, 
and  I  regret  to  see  you  so  much  overcome  with  the  natural 
arid  engaging  modesty  of  your  sex.  But  I  beg  you  will 
not  be  flurried.  I  shall  expect  your  reply  when  I  depart 
in  the  morning,  and,  meanwhile,  shall  spare  your  maiden 
blushes,  and  not  renew  the  subject." 

They  had  reached  the  portico  as  Mr.  Lindon  concluded 
this  oration,  and  were  now  joined  by  Helen  and  Aunt 
Mabel. 


108  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

Bonnnybel  left  her  stately  admirer,  and  hastened  up  stairs, 
whether  to  hide  her  maiden  blushes,  or  burst  into  tears  of 
scoi'n,  and  anger,  and  indignation,  we  leave  the  reader  to 
determine.  She  did  not  reappear  during  the  whole  evening, 
and  only  came  down  stairs  on  the  next  morning  when  Mr. 
Linden's  fine  equipage  stood  at  the  door.  Her  cheeks  burnt 
with  indignant  fire,  and  her  little  foot  almost  ground  itself 
into  the  carpet  with  anger  as  she  murmured,  "  He  shall  not 
think  I  'm  afraid  to  meet  him  !" 

She  restrained  her  scorn  by  a  violent  effort,  however,  and 
when  Mr.  Lindon  invited  her  into  the  h'brary,  coldly  de 
clined.  Her  hand  held  a  note  tightly,  however,  and  this 
note  Mr.  Lindon  took  with  an  expression  of  condescending- 
satisfaction. 

He  bowed  ceremoniously,  and  with  his  head  raised  in  a 
conquering  attitude,  entered  his  chariot  and  drove  away, 
holding  the  reins  himself. 

Bonnybel  watched  him  with  the  same  look  of  scornful 
pride,  but  suddenly  this  expression  gave  way  to  one  almost 
of  pleasure. 

Mr.  Lindon  turned  in  his  seat  almost  foaming  with  rage, 
and  tore  a  piece  of  paper  which  he  held  in  his  hand  ;  after 
which  he  shook  his  clenched  fist  at  the  hall,  and  lashing  his 
wild  horses,  disappeared  like  lightning. 

The  torn  paper  was  Bonnybel's  note,  and  this  note  con 
tained  simply — 

"  Miss  Vane  declines,  now  and  for  ever,  the  insulting  ad 
dresses  of  Mr.  Lindon.  If  they  are  renewed,  she  will  re 
gard  it  as  an  outrage  unworthy  of  a  gentleman.  She  prays 
that  all  personal  acquaintance,  even,  may  henceforth  cease 
between  them." 

That  was  all.  And  if  any  reader  thinks  our  little  heroine 
too  fiery,  it  is  because  we  have  not  drawn  the  portrait  of 
her  admirer  with  sufficient  force. 

When  Helen  took  leave  of  Mr.  Alston,  a  kind  look  of  re- 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  109 

gret  was  in  her  eyes ;   when  Mr.  Lindon  departed,  Bonny- 
bel's  eyes  flashed  dangerously. 

The  reason  was  that  Mr.  Alston  was  a  gentleman — Mr. 
Lindon  was  not.  But  the  fact  made  him  all  the  more  dan 
gerous,  as  this  history  will  in  due  time  show. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

i 

BONNTBEL  VANE  TO   HEE  FRIEND,  MISS   CATHARINE  EFFING- 
HAM,  AT  "THE  COVE,"  IN  GLOUCESTER  COUNTY. 


VANELT,  "before  breakfast, 

I  desire  to  be  informed  why  you  have  not  written  to 
me,  madam  ?  Has  that  odious  domestic  tyrant,  Mr.  Willie, 
forbidden  you  to  correspond  with  your  friends  ?  You  may 
inform  him,  with  my  compliments,  that  I  regard  him  in  the 
light  of  a  monster,  an  ogre,  an  eastern  despot,  else  he  would 
not  keep  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world  down  at  that  horrid 
old  house  in  Glo'ster — if  it  is  so  fine — when  her  friends  are 
dying  to  see  her. 

I  hear  that  he  runs  at  your  call,  and  obeys  your  orders, 
and  passes  all  his  leisure  moments  in  composing  sonnets  to 
your  eyebrows ;  but  I  do  n't  believe  it,  that  is,  I  would  not 
if  it  was  not  you,  dear.  He  was  very  humble  once  when  he 
was  on  probation,  and  I  '11  never  forget  his  lordship's  look 
of  agony  and  despair  when  you  gave  the  jessamine  bud  to 
Tom  Alston  that  day  at  the  ball ;  but  heigho  !  (that 's  the 
way  the  romance  writers  spell  a  sigh,  is  n't  it  ?)  I  do  n't 
believe  any  thing  of  that  sort  survives  the  honeymoon — 
does  it  ?  Before  we  're  married — we  're  married ! — the  beaus 
are  all  maccaronies  in  their  dress  and  manners ;  and  they 
rhyme  love  and  dove,  sighs  and  eyes,  kiss  and  bliss,  'till  one 's 
really  wearied  with  them.  Then  when  the  odious  hypocrites 
have  worked  upon  our  feelings  and  entrapped  our  poor  little 


110  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

hearts,  they  forget  how  to  rhyme,  and  behave  abominably. 
It  is  iny  intention  to  be  an  old  maid,  which  that  outrageous 
Willie  of  yours  predicts.  But  I  won't ! — that 's  flat ! — I  '11 
get  married  just  to  spite  him  ! 

"  What  a  flood  of  nonsense  I  've  written !  but  I  'm  in  ex 
cellent  spirits  this  morning,  and  I  never  feel  ill  at  my  ease 
with  you,  my  own  precious,  darling  Kate.  It  is  very  good 
in  you  to  let  a  mere  child  like  me  take  so  many  liberties 
with  you.  But  you  know  you  've  raised  me  /  always  at 
Efimgham  Hall  you  made  me  your  companion,  young  as  I 
was ;  and,  if  I  had  my  arms  around  your  neck  n^w,  I  'd 
squeeze  you  to  death !  I  would !  Please  write  soon.  I 
long  to  hear  from  you,  for  I  love  you  dearly — dearly  !  and 
if  you  do  n't  write,  I  '11  come  down  to  the  Cove  and  make 
you! 

"  There 's  little  or  no  news  in  Prince  George ;  we  have 
been  plagued,  as  usual,  by  a  crowd  of  stupid  boys,  tho'  some 
nice  gentlemen  came  too.  I  have  had  another  visit  from  my 
bugbear,  that  Mr.  Lindon,  but  I  do  rtt  think  he  HI  call  again 
in  a  hurry.  He  made  me  the  most  insulting  speech  you  can 
think ;  but  I  returned  it  with  interest.  You  would  have 
thought  he  was  bidding  for  a  slave-girl.  I  gave  him  my 
answer  in  writing,  and  he  tore  it  up,  and  went  off  in  a  rage. 
He  may  rage  as  he  pleases. 

"Dearest  papa  has  the  gout  again,  but  it  did  not  prevent 
his  going  to  court  the  other  day,  and  coming  back  in  high 
indignation  about  the  new  Act  of  Parliament — the  attack 
on  our  liberties.  They  think  they  '11  make  us  slaves,  but 
they  are  very  much  mistaken.  I  've  sealed  up  all  the  tea — 
and  I  'd  die  before  I  'd  drink  a  drop ! 

"  We  all  rode  to  Mr.  Eland's  the  other  day,  and  found 
the  dear  old  gentleman  home  from  the  Burgesses.  His  sight 
is  failing,  and  he  wears  a  green  blind,  but  there's  no  finer 
gentleman  in  the  world.  He  made  me  a  beautiful  bow  and 
kissed  my  cheek.  There  are  very  few  of  the  rising  genera 
tion  like  papa,  or  Squire  Effingham,  or  Mr.  Bland.* 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  VIII. 


HENKY    ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  Ill 

*'  The  day  after,  to  Cawsorts,  which  is  as  lovely  as  ever, 
and  I  think  I  '11  never  grow  tired  looking  on  the  meeting  of 
the  two  rivers,  the  white  ships  and  dipping  boughs.  Frances 
Randolph  is  there  from  Matoa/x,  with  the  baby,  who  is  al 
most  walking.  She  is  as  dark  and  lovely  as  ever,  and  little 
Johnny  is  a  wonder  of  beauty.  He 's  a  darling  love  of  a 
baby,  and  has  a  complexion  like  a  lily  with  the  morning 
sun  on  it !  There,  madam !  what  would  Mr.  Cowley  say 
of  that?  I  think  they  ought  to  have  called  him  Bland, 
too,  or  Effingham,  as  I  'm  told  a  lovely  girl,  named  Kate  Ef- 
fingham,  or  Mistress  Catherine  Effiugham,  if  your  ladyship 
pleases,  stood  godmother  for  him.  Simple  John  Randolph 
is  too  short — do  n't  you  think  so  ?  When  I  took  the  little 
creature  in  my  arms — you  know  all  the  babies  come  at  once 
to  me — he  laughed,  and  crowed,  and  clapped  his  hands,  look 
ing,  all  the  time,  curiously  at  me  out  of  his  dark  piercing 
eyes."* 

Here  follows  a  long  description  of  various  scenes  at  Yanely, 
the  pastoral  frolic  and  other  divertisements,  of  which  the 
reader  has  heard.  The  letter  ends  thus : 

"  Give  my  love  to  Mr.  "Willie,  and  write  soon,  my  precious 
Kate.  How  I  love  you !  Won't  you  come  soon  ?  Do, 
there 's  a  dear !  Vanely  's  looking  beautiful  with  green 
leaves,  and  I  long  to  see  you,  to  hear  your  dear,  kind  laugh, 
and  kiss  you  to  my  heart's  content !  Tom  Alston  said,  the 
other  day,  that  I  reminded  him  frequently  of  you.  I  could 
have  run  and  kissed  him,  I  assure  you. 

"  Give  oceans  of  love  to  everybody,  and  do  n't  forget  to 
kiss  the  baby  for  me.  Good  night,  now,  my  own  darling. 
Please  don't  stop  loving  your  fond 

"  BONNTBEL. 

"  Postscript. — Did  I  mention  that  his  Serene  Excellency 
and  Royal  Highness,  the  Honorable  Lieutenant  Henry  St. 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  IX. 


112  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

John,  Esquire,  was  here  ?  He  has  been  good  enough  to 
take  notice  of  his  small  cousin  occasionally,  and  to  ride  out 
with  me.  On  our  return  from  one  of  these  rides,  he  had 
the  audacity  to  take  me  in  his  arms  !  Just  to  think  of  his 
impudence  !  but  I  boxed  him  soundly !  Of  course,  't  was 
in  lifting  me  from  the  saddle.  I  fell  into  the  water,  coming 
back  from  the  "  Charming  Sally,"  and  the  lieutenant  had 
the  goodness,  in  putting  on  my  slipper,  which  I  'd  dropped, 
to  squeeze  my  foot  into  a  jelly !  Just  reflect !  to  squeeze  a 
young  lady's  foot !  Was  n't  it  dreadful  ?  He  thought  him 
self  mighty  fine,  I  dare  say !  Odious  fellow !  not  that  I 
mean  to  speak  ill  of  him,  however.  He 's  too  wholly  indif 
ferent  to  me  for  me  to  take  the  trouble.  By  the  bye,  I 
heard  something  of  his  paying  his  addresses  to  a  young  lady 
from  Glo'ster.  Is  it  true  ?  I  ask  from  idle  curiosity  only — 
it  is  nothing  to  me. 

"  Good  night,  my  own  dear  Kate. 

"  Your 

"  BONNYBEL." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HOW  MISS    BONNTBEL  TAINTED   IN  THE  ARMS  OF  HER  gOUSIN. 

ALTHOUGH  Miss  Bonnybel  carefully  forgot  to  state  the 
fact,  St.  John  had  accompanied  them  on  the  visit  to  Jordan's 
and  Cawson's,  riding  by  the  old  chariot  on  his  fine  "  Tally- 
ho,"  and  adding  very  much  to  the  zest  of  the  journey  by 
his  wit  and  humor. 

The  young  man  was  now  quietly  domiciled  at  Vanely ; 
the  fact  that  he  was  lieutenant  of  the  Governor's  guards 
appearing  never  to  cross  his  mind.  He  had  left  his  subor. 
dinate  in  command,  and  did  not  trouble  himself  further. 
His  whole  thoughts  were  absorbed  in.  the  pursuit  of  the  now 
"  cherished  object." 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  113 

Day  by  day,  thus  lingering  at  Vanely,  he  became  more 
dangerously  enthralled.  He  constantly  found,  or  thought 
that  he  found,  in  the  little  maiden,  some  new  and  more  ex 
quisite  attraction. 

Nor  was  this  wholly  the  result  of  fancy.  Since  his  last 
visit,  Bonnybel  had  greatly  changed,  and  was  changing  still. 
To  every  maiden  comes  a  time  when,  opening  from  bud  to 
blossom,  into  the  perfect  flower  of  womanhood,  she  stands 
upon  the  banks  of  the  fast-flowing  stream,  and  sees,  in 
dreams  as  it  were — dreams  full  of  mysterious  loveliness 
— an  unknown  face :  and  with  sighs  and  smiles,  feels  in 
her  pulses  a  new  life  before  undreamed  of.  Thus  was  it 
with  the  careless  little  witch  of  Vanely.  St.  John,  when  he 
came  again  to  the  familiar  old  mansion,  saw,  in  place  of  a" 
romping  child,  a  beautiful  young  lady. 

He  had  left  Bonnybel  a  girl,  and  found  her,  all  at  once,  a 
woman.  The  change  in  her  person  was  even  more  remark 
able  than  in  her  character.  Before,  her  figure  was  ungrace 
fully  angular,  and  many  of  her  movements  abrupt  and  awk 
ward.  Now  all  this  had  disappeared.  Still  slender,  her 
person  was  yet  full  and  exquisitely  rounded ;  every  motion 
was  gliding  and  full  of  grace  ;  the  cheek,  once  too  pale,  was 
now  round  and  blooming  like  a  rose ;  the  large  eyes  were 
brilliant,  melting,  and  full  of  what  the  poets  have  described 
as  "  liquid  light."  In  a  word,  that  marvelous  change  which 
is  so  peculiar  to  the  girl  just  budding  into  the  woman,  had 
come  over  the  young  lady,  and  with  every  passing  hour  the 
influence  deepened,  the  rosy  cheeks  grew  rosier,  the  pout 
ing  lips  bloomed  with  a  richer  carnation,  the  dangerous 
eyes  increased  their  fatal  brilliancy. 

Bonnybel  possessed  that  rare  and  indefinable  attraction, 
which,  in  all  ages,  has  brought  men  to  the  feet  of  the  women 
endowed  with  it.  With  far  less  beauty  of  feature,  her  in 
fluence  would  probably  have  been  nearly  as  great.  Her 
mobile  and  ever  changing  countenance  reflected,  as  from  a 
mirror,  the  ceaseless  play  of  her  thoughts  and  feelings.  She 
was,  by  no  means,  at  all  times,  the  wild  and  coquetish  girl, 


114  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

full  of  mirth  and  laughter ;  at  certain  moments,  every  trace 
of  gaiety  disappeared,  and  the  bright  eyes  swam  in  tears, 
or  were  fixed  upon  vacancy  with  a  sad  intentness. 

She  sang  delightfully.  And  here  again  she  was  finely  en 
dowed.  She  not  only  caroled,  with  the  most  contagious 
mirth  and  wild  abandon,  the  "  comic"  ditties  of  the  period — 
"Within  a  Furlong  of  Edinborough  Town,"  "  Pretty  Betty 
Martin,  tip-toe  fine,"  and  others ;  she  sang,  with  a  sadness 
and  pathos  equally  contagious,  the  songs  of  sentiment  then 
popular — "Flowers  of  the  Forest,"  "  Grammachree,"  "  Fare 
well  to  Lochaber,"  and  that  beautiful  ditty  which  is  certainly 
the  pearl  of  all  music,  which  sounds  like  the  sigh  of  the  au 
tumn  wind  through  the  broom  straw,  the  inexpressibly  pa 
thetic  "  Katherine  Ogie." 

Of  these  songs,  sung  by  Bonnybel,  our  worthy  author 
says — They  are  the  sweetest,  I  think,  of  ah1  the  Scottish  min 
strelsy.  But  all  are  sweet,  far  more  so  than  the  ditties  of 
to-day.  They  sound  for  us  now  with  a  dim  memorial  music, 
those  madrigals  which  were  caroled  by  our  grandmothers 
to  the  murmur  of  old  ghostly  harpsichords,  while,  standing 
by  the  little  beauties,  our  respected  grandfathers  were  cap 
tivated,  and  for  ever  after  dreamed  of  those  old  tunes,  and 
loved  them  as  the  echoes  of  past  happiness  and  youthful 
joys,  and  all  that  carnival  which  glitters  and  darts  onward 
in  the  rosy  dawn  of  youth.  I  knew  an  old  gentleman  who 
would  often  take  his  book  of  ancient  Scottish  songs,  and 
murmur  them  to  himself  for  hours ;  and  I  've  frequently 
seen  my  dear  and  honored  father  sit,  with  wistful  smiles, 
and  pensive  eyes,  recalling,  as  he  listened  to  his  favorite 
"Flowers  of  the  Forest,"  youthful  hours,  and  the  little 
maiden  who  sang  for  Jiim,  the  same  song,  in  the  days  of  silk 
stockings  and  hair  powder,  early  in  the  century.  Kind- 
hearted  and  true  Virginia  gentleman,  whose  hand  has  so 
often  rested  on  my  head  in  childhood,  may  you  sleep  in 
peace !  O  noble  father,  gone  from  us  to  heaven  !  thinking 
of  you  now,  here  in  the  sunshine,  and  of  what  was  a  rarer, 
purer  sunshine — your  sw«et  smile — the  idle  words  I  write 


HENRY   ST.  JOHN",   GENTLEMAN.  115 

swim  as  I  gaze  on  them.  I  lay  down  my  pen  and  muse,  and 
am  thankful  for  the  blood  that  flows  in  my  veins,  for  the  no 
ble  sire  bestowed  upon  me  by  a  gracious  and  kind  Heaven ! 

But  let  us  not  listen  further  to  the  worthy  old  gentleman. 
The  personages  of  our  history  demand  attention — the  scenes 
which  attended  Mr.  Harry  St.  John's  visit  to  Vanely.  Let 
us  return  thither  for  a  brief  space,  before  following  the  cur 
rent  of  the  chronicle  which  glides  away  to  mix  itself  with 
the  roar  of  history.  Let  us  linger  in  the  old  domain,  and 
watch  the  ripple  of  that  stream  of  colonial  life  which  has 
flown  from  us,  and  seems  now  to  murmur  from  remote  and 
misty  shores.  Let  us  gaze  upon  the  snoAvy  clouds,  serenely 
floating  over  emerald  fields  to  the  far,  mysterious  horizon ; 
hear  the  whisper  of  the  ocean  breeze  in  the  Vanely  oaks, 
and  follow  our  hero,  Mr.  Henry  St.  John,  in  his  gradual  ap 
proaches  toward  the  woman  whom  he  loved. 

That  he  had  reached  this  point,  his  own  heart  no  longer 
left  him  in  the  least  doubt.  A  new  influence  seemed  to 
have  descended  upon  his  life;  every  thing  became,  as  it 
were,  transfigured.  A  purer  orange  shone  in  the  sunset 
and  the  dawn,  the  waves  upon  the  shore  were  perfect  mu 
sic,  the  songs  of  birds  came  to  him  like  a  divine  harmony 
of  joy  and  love.  The  future,  which  before  he  had  scarce 
given  a  thought  to,  opened  now  a  grand,  illimitable  land 
scape,  bathed,  as  it  were,  in  rosy  and  enchanting  sunlight. 
The  poor,  cold,  trifling  past  had  disappeared  like  a  dream  of 
the  hours  of  darkness,  and  in  the  marvelous  radiance  of  the 
new  dawn,  the  heart  of  the  young  man  throbbed,  his  cheeks 
glowed  like  a  boy's  ;  the  world  seemed  to  him  one  great  field 
of  flowers,  over  which  wandered  slowly,  like  some  fairy 
queen  of  a  sinless  realm,  the  figure  of  the  woman  whom  he 
loved.  Strange  power  of  ardent  and  true  love !  which  in 
our  cold,  prosaic  age  is  so  often  strangled  by  the  dust  of 
the  conflict,  or  in  the  inexorable  grasp  of  mammon  ;  which 
the  dilettanti  and  the  "  men  of  the  world"  sneer  at ;  which  for 
that  reason,  if  no  other,  may  demand  respect  and  honor ! 

Of  the  endless  walks,  and  talks,  and  rides,  and  excursions. 


116  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

we  have  no  room  to  speak.  Perhaps  we  are  fortunate  in 
this,  since  our  friends,  the  sneering  philosophers  of  the  new 
school,  might  call  the  history  "  love-sick,"  and  visit  us  with 
their  displeasure. 

Still,  let  us  go  with  the  young  man  and  his  companion 
on  one  of  these  excursions.  Perhaps  the  ocean  breeze 
may  blow  on  the  page,  and  that  is  better  than  the  dust  of 
streets. 

It  is  a  balmy  morning,  and  unloosing  a  sail-boat  from  the 
Vanely  wharf,  St.  John  assists  the  girl  to  her  seat,  and 
spreads  the  white  sail,  which  the  wind  fills  immediately. 

Directed  by  the  skillful  paddle,  the  sail-boat  plunges  its 
cutwater  into  the  waves,  and,  like  a  waterfowl  with  out 
stretched  wings,  flies  down  the  broad  river. 

Little  is  said  by  either  the  young  man  or  his  companion 
as  they  float  on.  The  beautiful  landscape,  the  fleecy  clouds 
serenely  drifting  across  the  blue  sky,  the  soft  and  balmy  air, 
these  seem  to  discourage  idle  conversation ;  an  indefinable 
feeling  steals  over  Bonnybel,  and  she  is  silent  and  pensive. 
Half  reclining  on  the  gunwale  of  the  boat,  she  listens  to  the 
murmur  of  the  waves,  surrendering  herself  wholly  to  the  in 
fluence  of  the  time  and  scene. 

St.  John  thinks  that  he  never  saw  her  look  more  lovely, 
and,  in  truth,  the  picture  is  attractive.  The  wide  straw  hat, 
with  its  fluttering  ribbons,  has  fallen  back  upon  the  graceful 
neck,  and  the  young  lady's  profuse  brown  hair,  parted  in 
the  middle  of  her  forehead,  lies  in  a  mass  of  curls  upon  her 
shoulders.  The  head  droops  forward  in  a  pensive  attitude, 
and  as  the  boat  runs  before  the  breeze,  the  fingers  of  the 
wind  caress  and  bring  a  blush,  as  it  were,  to  the  damsel's 
cheeks,  blowing  her  hair  in  ripples  from  the  white  forehead, 
and  fluttering  gayly  the  gay  ribbon  knots  which  decorate 
her  bodice.  The  odors  of  the  foliage  and  flowers  along  the 
banks  combine  to  fill  the  atmosphere  with  breaths  of  fragrant 
perfume,  and  the  brilliant  sunlight  falls  in  a  silver  flood  up 
on  the  wide  expanse,  glittering  in  the  ripples,  and  rejoicing, 
so  to  speak,  in  its  tranquil  splendor. 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  117 

Bonnybel  leans  lower  over  the  boat's  side,  and  plays  with 
her  fingers  in  the  water,  and,  with  a  smile,  flirts  some  drops 
toward  St.  John.  Then  raising  her  head,  she  follows  the 
flight  of  a  hawk  or  an  eagle,  disappearing  in  the  clouds,  or 
her  glance  rests  upon  some  white-sailed  ship  winging  its 
way  like  a  sea-bird  to  the  ocean ;  or  with  half-closed  eyes, 
in  a  dreamy  reverie,  she  listens  to  the  song  of  birds,  heard 
faintly  from  the  forest,  whose  rich  leaves  dance  and  twinkle 
in  the  sunshine,  moved  by  the  balmy  wind  for  ever  blowing. 

Such  idle  words  as  were  uttered,  the  gay  breeze  bore  far 
away ;  those  winds  of  other  years  still  hold  the  secret. 

They  came  at  last  opposite  the  old  island  of  Jamestown, 
and  in  obedience  to  the  young  lady's  wish,  St.  John  ran  the 
boat  ashore,  and  they  landed. 

The  old  church  and  a  few  ruins  only  remained,  with  one 
or  two  fishermen's  huts  near  at  hand,  and  lingering  among 
the  ruins,  the  young  man  and  his  companion  talked  of  old 
times. 

Few  spots  on  earth  possess  the  interest  of  Jamestown 
island.  It  was  here  that  the  New  World  was  born  and 
cradled,  in  storm  and  blood.  Here  lived  and  thought,  and 
fought,  and  suffered,  and  triumphed,  one  of  the  noblest  and 
truest  gentlemen  that  ever  walked  the  world — Captain  John 
Smith.  Here  Pocahontas  was  received  into  the  church  and 
married ;  the  child  who  had  held  a  hero's  head  upon  her 
bosom,  to  defend  it  from  the  savage  war-club ;  who  lives  yet 
in  ten  thousand  hearts,  as  the  impersonation  of  the  highest, 
truest  womanhood,  of  love,  pity,  a  devotion  which  count 
ed  life  as  nothing  if  she  might  save  from  death  a  poor,  un 
known,  disarmed  captive !  The  monumental  pride  of  kings 
in  hard  marble  or  the  stubborn  bronze  will  go  to  decay,  lapse 
back  to  earth,  and  they  and  their  actions  be  forgotten.  But 
the  story  of  Pocahontas  shall  be  known  and  remembered 
by  a  mighty  host  of  unborn  millions,  who  wih1  love  and  hon 
or  her. 

They  spoke  of  the  Indian  princess,  lingering  in  the  old 
ruins,  and  on  the  spot  where  she  had  so  often  stood,  and 


118  HENRY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

Bonnybel's  pensive  eyes  seemed  to  wander  to  the  past,  as 
her  companion  went  on. 

"  We  lead  but  poor,  cold  lives  compared  with  her^"  she 
said  at  last,  with  a  deep  sigh ;  "  we  are  nothing  but  butter 
flies  !" 

And  plucking  a  flower  from  the  ruins,  she  added, 

"As  this  bud  to  the  artificial  flower  of  the  dressmaker,  so 
does  Pocahontas  compare  with  us.  There,  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  deny  it ;  it  is  time,  and  '  pity  'tis,  'tis  true.'  You 
are  descended  from  Pocahontas — there,  I  present  you  with 
the  flower.  It  is  time  to  go  home." 

The  tide  was  favorable,  as  it  was  coming  in,  and  taking 
in  the  sail,  St.  John  plied  his  paddle,  and  slowly  returned  to 
the  Vanely  wharf.  They  had  then  the  new  recreation  of  a 
walk  through  the  fields,  and,  as  though  for  their  especial 
benefit,  the  day  became  even  more  delightful.  The  affluent 
glory  of  the  morning  deepened,  a  languid  pleasure  seemed 
to  brood  over  the  landscape ;  as  St.  John  walked  by  Bon 
nybel's  side,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  making  a  journey  through 
fairy  land. 

They  were  not  to  reach  home  without  incident,  however 
— an  incident  of  a  nature  sufficiently  startling. 

Their  path  wound  through  the  meadow,  crossed  a  brook, 
skirted  with  deep  grass  and  flowers,  and  then  ascended  the 
hill.  They  paused  by  the  brook  side,  and  Bonnybel  request 
ed  her  companion  to  go  and  get  her  a  bunch  of  wild  honey 
suckle  flowers,  which  was  visible  fifty  yards  off,  in  a  clump 
of  bushes. 

St.  John  left  her  side,  and  the  young  lady  was  strolling 
along  the  little  stream,  when  her  attention  was  attracted  by 
a  singularly  brilliant  object,  apparently  lying  in  the  grass. 
It  looked  like  a  jewel,  and  was  buried,  so  to  speak,  in  a 
bunch  of  thick  herbage. 

Suddenly  the  bright  object  moved.  Turning  deadly  pale, 
the  girl  started  back,  and  a  stifled  cry  escaped  from  her  col 
orless  lips. 

It  was  a  rattlesnake  of  the  largest  size ;  and  as  the  girl 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  119 

gazed  toward  the  horrible  object  with  panting  bosom  and 
charmed  eyes,  the  reptile  unrolled  his  great  bulk,  and  raised 
high  up  above  the  bunch  of  grass,  his  loathsome,  but  beau 
tiful  crest. 

In  an  instant  this  crest  seemed  to  swell  and  expand — 
it  assumed  a  hue  like  topaz — and  the  small,  piercing  eyes 
burned  and  glittered  with  a  light  which  seemed  to  deprive 
the  girl  of  her  will. 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  and  tried  to  cry  aloud,  but  her 
voice  expired  in  a  moan. 

The  reptile's  wide  mouth  was  all  at  once  expanded,  and 
his  sharp  teeth,  bending  backward,  glittered  in  a  deadly  row. 
The  forked  tongue  shook  with  an  angry  vibration ;  the  tail 
began  to  move  and  curl  to  and  fro. 

The  girl  was  spell-bound  by  those  glittering  and  satanic 
eyes,  which  charmed  and  dazzled  her,  while  they  chilled  her 
heart's  blood.  She  had  never  for  a  moment  given  credit  to 
the  stories  of  this  influence ;  but  she  now  found  a  horrible 
attraction  in  those  eyes.  She  felt  a  mingled  desire  to  fly 
and  to  advance — the  eyes  of  the  snake  terrified  her  to  death, 
yet  drew  her  toward  him. 

But  suddenly  this  expression  of  the  eye  changed.  The 
rattlesnake  seemed  to  abandon  the  idea  of  charming,  and 
to  be  mastered  by  anger.  The  piercing  eyes  darted  flames 
of  fire,  the  crest  burned  and  blazed  with  a  thousand  colors, 
the  forked  tongue  darted  to  and  fro  like  lightning,  and  the 
huge  folds  of  the  reptile  rapidly  undulated,  writhed  about, 
and  changed  into  aU  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  At  the 
same  moment  the  tail  was  raised  and  shaken  with  the  ra 
pidity  of  a  humming  bird's  wings ;  the  huge  mouth  opened, 
and  the  deadly  rattle  rang  out  in  the  silence. 

The  girl  knew  that  this  was  the  signal  of  the  serpent's 
spring,  and  she  no  longer  struggled  against  her  fate.  Her 
knees  bent  beneath  her,  a  cold  perspiration  streamed  from 
her  brow,  and  with  laboring  bosom,  and  head  thrown  back 
like  a  wounded  bird,  she  closed  her  eyes  and  lost  conscious 
ness. 


120  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

She  was  aroused  by  the  contact  of  cold  water  on  her  brow 
and  hands,  and  opening  her  eyes,  found  herself  lying  in  the" 
arms  of  Mr.  St.  John. 

At  two  paces  from  her  the  rattlesnake  lay  dead — com 
pletely  severed  in  the  middle.  St.  John  had  seen  her  atti 
tude  of  horror,  had  heard  the  deadly  rattle,  and  arrived  just 
in  time  to  strike  the  snake  with  a  pliant  stick,  and  prevent 
the  girl  from  falling.  She  now  lay  on  his  bosom,  panting 
and  trembling,  and  hiding  her  face.  She  attempted  to  draw 
back,  and  half  rose  to  her  feet,  but  her  eyes  falling  on  the 
reptile,  her  strength  was  again  paralyzed,  and  the  second 
time  she  fainted  in  Mr.  St.  John's  arms. 

The  young  man  saw  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to 
remove  her  from  the  repulsive  object,  and  doubtless  was  not 
displeased  with  his  duty.  He  hastily  took  Bonnybel  in  his 
arms,  as  if  she  was  a  child,  and  bore  her  to  some  distance. 
Placing  her  pale  and  inanimate  form  on  a  bank,  he  quickly 
brought  some  water  in  his  hat  and  threw  it  in  her  face. 

The  color  came  back  to  her  cheeks,  she  uttered  a  deep 
sigh,  and  opened  her  eyes.  It  was  some  time  before  he 
could  reassure  her,  and  make  her  understand  that  there  was 
no  longer  any  danger.  He  succeeded  at  last,  however,  and 
leaning  on  her  cousin's  arm,  Bonnybel  slowly  returned 
home.  "We  forbear  from  relating  the  scene  which  ensued. 
Mr.  St.  John  was  the  hero  of  the  hour  for  performing  his 
duty. 

Bonnybel  did  not  recover  from  her  horror  for  a  week,  but 
at  the  end  of  that  time  her  gaiety  returned,  and  as  she  was 
going  to  retire  one  night,  she  told  St.  John,  with  an  auda 
cious  look,  that  if  he  had  asked  her  on  the  day  of  the  ac 
cident,  she  would  certainly  have  kissed  him. 

"It  was  of  no  importance,"  returned  the  young  man, 
laughing.  "I  had  you  in  my  arms  and  carried  you  fifty 
yards ;  your  cheek  lay  on  my  shoulder ;  it  is  the  softest  I 
ever  felt." 

"  Humph !"  cried  Miss  Bonnybel,  with  a  decided  pout ; 
"  highly  improper  in  you  to  take  a  young  lady  in  your  arms ! 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  121 

and  I  'd  like  to  know  what  you  know  about  girls'  cheeks ! 
Well,  I  won't  quarrel  with  my  brave  defender !  I  'm  very 
glad  I  'm  alive  ;  I  'm  sure  't  is  infinitely  better  than  being 
dead.  Good  night,  my  lord !" 

And  the  little  witch  slams  the  door,  and  runs  to  her  cham 
ber  singing.  St.  John  follows  her  example  and  dreams  of 
her. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

BONNYBEL  VANE  TO   HEE  FRIEND,   KATE  EFFINGHA*. 

VANELY,  midnight, 

***** 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

*  *  "I  thought  I  should  have  died  of  laughing,  Kate! 
He  drove  up  to  the  door  in  his  little  sulky,  with  the  pretty 
bay  trotter,  and  got  out  with  as  easy  and  careless  an  ai»as  if 
nothing  at  all  had  happened  on  his  last  visit.  I  think  he  is 
the  most  delightfully  cool  personage  I  've  ever  known,  and 
were  I  one  of  the  medical  profession,  I  should  prescribe  for  the 
spleen  or  melancholy,  a  single  dose  of  Mr.  Thomas  Alston ! 
His  demeanor  to  sister  Helen  all  day  was  really  enchanting. 
The  most  critical  observer  could  not  have  discerned  a  shade 
of  embarrassment  on  his  part.  At  first  she  was  very  much 
put  out,  but  I  believe  she  ended  by  laughing — at  least  I  saw 
her  smile.  He  inquired  how  Miss  Helen  had  been  since  he 
had  last  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her ;  he  was  happy  to  say 
that  his  own  health  and  spirits  had  been  excellent ! 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  man  ?  What  a  wretch ! 
Just  as  much  as  to  say,  "  If  you  fancy  I  'm  in  the  dumps  be 
cause  you  discarded  me,  you  're  very  much  mistaken !"  And 
now  mark  my  prediction,  Kate — sister  Helen  will  end  by 
marrying  him !  just  as  sure  as  you  're  alive.  And  I  should  n't 

6 


122  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

blame  her.  Do  n't  tell  anybody  what  I  am  now  going  to 
say — do  n't  even  whisper  it — but,  hold  your  ear  close ! — 
we  girls  like  a,  gallant  that  won't  take  a  repulse  !  Do  n't 
we? 

"  There  's  no  news  but  Jenny's  marriage.  I  'm  out  of  pa 
tience  with  the  post  for  not  delivering  my  letter.  I  describ 
ed  every  thing,  and  crossed  every  page.  I  never  saw  Curlers 
so  full  of  company  or  so  noisy.  Some  of  the  young  men  got 
terribly,  or  delightfully  tipsy,  for  they  were  very  amusing. 
There  was  a  bowl  of  apple  toddy  that  would,  sure,  have 
floated  a  ship,  and  some  of  the  gentlemen  visited  it  so  often 
that  they  lost  the  use  of  their  sea  legs.  That  jest  is  not  my 
own— 't  is  second-hand. 

"  I  stood,  as  I  told  you,  with  Barry  Hunter,  and  he  made 
himself  very  agreeable.  My  dress  was  white  brocade,  with 
rosettes  of  satin  ribbon.  The  head-dress  was  of  point  de 
Venise,  my  hair  looped  up  with  the  pearls  mamma  present 
ed  me  at  Christmas — the  whole  crowned  with  a  wreath  of 
roses.  I  wore  a  pair  of  the  stays  I  told  you  of,  from  Mr. 
Pate's,  in  town.  They  fit  admirably  to  the  figure,  and  I 
bend  with  ease  in  them,  which  can 't  be  said  of  the  new- 
fashioned  ones  I  got  from  London. 

"  I  wish  my  letter  telling  you  every  thing  had  not  been  lost. 
There  were  a  number  of  your  friends  there — Mr.  Gary,  Mr. 
Pendleton,  and  that  remarkable-looking  gentleman,  Mr. 
Tazewell,  of  Kingsmill,  with  his  statue-like  head  and  flow 
ing  hair,  parted  in  the  middle  like  a  picture  of  Titian.*  Mr. 
Pendleton  danced  a  minuet  with  me,  with  admirable  grace, 
but  said  with  his  silvery  voice  and  extraordinary  sweet  smile, 
that  he  was  becoming  an  old  gentleman,  and  must  make 
way  for  the  youngsters.  Mr.  Jefferson  from  the  mountains, 
came  up  as  he  left  me,  and  made  himself  very  agreeable, 
laughing  with  a  pleasant  wit  at  every  thing.  I  do  n't  wonder 
in  the  least  at  Martha  Wayles  marrying  him,  in  spite  of  his 
wild  pranks  at  college  which  they  talk  of.f  They  are  at 
The  Forest,  over  in  Charles  City,  you  know. 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  X.  t  Ibid-i  No-  *I. 


HENKY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  123 

"  But  I  have  n't  told  you  of  the  terrible,  dreadful  acci 
dent  that  happened  to  me,  that  is,  the  girls  all  thought  it 
such,  but  I  did  n't  care  a  button.  I  was  dancing  with  Bar 
ry  Hunter,  in  the  reel,  when  one  of  the  young  heroes,  who 
had  lost  his  sea  legs  from  too  great  devotion  to  the  inspiring 
punch-bowl,  trod  on  my  skirt  and  tore  it  dreadfully.  I 
stumbled  besides,  and  made  the  bride  a  low  bow,  kneeling 
gracefully  on  one  knee  !  The  gentlemen  all  ran  to  aid  me, 
though  I  rose  at  once,  and  they  gave  the  unfortunate  young 
gentleman,  who  'd  caused  the  accident,  the  blackest  possible 
looks.  Barry  Hunter  would  have  followed,  and  called  him 
to  account,  had  I  not  prevented  it.  The  poor  fellow,  whose 
name  I  '11  suppress,  made  me  the  humblest  apology,  for 
which  I  gave  him  my  hand  and  a  laugh  ;  he  's  since  pre 
sented  me  with  a  copy  of  verses,  so  exactly  descriptive  of 
myself  that  you  shall  hear  them,  madam. 

"Read! 

"  Iris,  with  every  power  to  please, 

Has  all  the  graceful  aids  of  art ; 
She  speaks,  she  moves  with  matchless  ease ; 

Her  voice,  her  air  alarms  the  heart ! 
While  every  eye  her  steps  pursued, 

As  through  the  sprightly  dance  she  shone, 
The  queen  of  Love  with  envy  viewed 

A  form  superior  to  her  own. 
'Cupid  1  my  darling  child,'  she  cried, 

'  Behold,  amid  that  jocund  train, 
A  nymph  elate  in  beauty's  pride, 

The  dangerous  rival  of  my  reign ! 
If  aught  a  mother  then  may  claim, 

0 1  let  her  triumph  here  no  more ! 
But  mortify  this  earthly  dame, 

Or  who  will  Venus  now  adore  ?' 
She  spake,  her  son  obeyed,  and  lo  I 

Hid  where  no  mortal  eye  could  see, 
At  Iris'  feet  he  dropped  his  bow, 

She  tripped,  and  fell  upon  her  knee  1 
But  ere  a  youth  could  lend  his  aid, 

The  sister  graces  rushed  between, 
"Who  still  attend  the  lovely  maid, 


124  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

And  softly  raised  her  up  unseen. 
The  little  archer,  hi  a  fright, 

To  her  who  first  the  deed  designed, 
On  fluttering  pinions  took  his  flight, 

And  left  the  guilty  bow  behind — 
In  Paphos,  on  a  flowery  bed, 

Reposes  now,  bereft  of  arms ; 
"While  Iris  conquers  hi  his  stead, 

And  reigns  resistless  in  her  charms  1" 

"  Oh  me  !  to  be  called  the  rival  of  Venus,  and  Iris,  and  all 
— is  n't  it  delightful?  Pray,  show  the  verses  to  everybody, 
but  do  n't  let  them  slip  in  the  "  Gazette,"  't  would  look  so 
vain* 

"  I  suppose  we  '11  all  go  to  the  fine  assembly  soon,  in  town, 
given  to  the  Governor's  lady.  Won't  my  darling  Kate 
come  too  ?  I'm  not  flattering  you,  madam,  when  I  say  that 
once  the  maccaronies  trooped  after  you,  as  the  stars  follow 
lovely  Cynthia,  their  queen !  Mr.  Willie  's  a  pretty  fellow ! 
"  He  's  made  the  sun  in  private  shine,"  as  Tom  Alston  says  in 
some  verses  he  claims  for  his  own,  but  he  tells  a  story,  for 
they're  by  Mr.  Addison.  Do,  pray,  come  shine  on  Vanely ! 
I  know  one  somebody  who  '11  dance  for  joy  when  you  ap 
pear  there !  She  loves  you  dearly  !  and  her  name  is 

"  BONNTBEL. 

"  Postscript. — I  must  defer  to  another  occasion  an  account 
of  the  really  terrifying  scene  I  had  with  a  rattlesnake.  His 
Excellency  Lord  Harry  St.  John  acted  in  the  most  heroic 
manner,  and  after  killing  the  snake,  had  the  extreme  good 
ness  to  take  me  in  his  arms,  as  I  'd  fainted,  and  carry  me 
some  distance.  O  !  it  was  awful,  Kate  !  I  see  the  horrible 
eyes  still,  but  I  won't  think  of  it.  'T  was  in  coming  back 
from  a  sail  on  the  river,  and  a  visit  to  Jamestown  island. 
By  the  bye,  I  wonder  if  Pocahontas  was  brunette  ;  I  should 
suppose  so,  as  his  Excellency,  the  Lieutenant,  who  's  de 
scended  from  her,  and  admires  her  hugely,  is  dark.  I  'm 
happy  to  say  that  I^m  blonde — am  I  not  ?  You  did  not 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XIL 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  125 

tell  me  the  truth  of  the  report  that  his  lordship  was  courting 
down  in  Glo'ster.  When  I  ask  him  he  laughs.  Do  you 
know,  Kate,  he 's  sadly  deteriorated ;  he 's  really  the  most 
odiously  disagreeable  person  I  know,  and  wearies  me  to 
death.  I  wish  he  'd  go  and  marry  his  Glo'ster  beauty,  but  I 
fear  there 's  no  such  good  luck — is  there  ?  Tell  me  in  your 
next  letter,  if  you  think  of  it.  I  'm  dying  to  have  some  one 
to  tease  him  about  when  he  returns  from  Richmond  town, 
whither  he  's  going  in  a  day  or  two. 

"  Goodness !  how  late  't  is  by  my  repeater !  I  '11  have  no 
roses  in  the  morning.  Pray,  write  soon — and  now,  pleasant 
dreams  to  my  precious,  darling  Kate.  Good  night !" 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

AT  THE    "TRYSTING  TREE." 

THE  highest  point  in  the  Yanely  "  chase,"  studded  all  over 
with  great  trees,  which  throw  their  twinkling  shadows  on 
the  green  sward,  is  crowned  by  a  mighty  oak,  from  the  foot 
of  which  a  noble  view  may  be  obtained. 

Around  the  base  of  the  tree  is  arranged  a  wicker  seat,  im- 
memorially,  if  tradition  may  be  believed,  the  favorite  resort 
of  lovers.  Indeed,  the  great  oak,  time  out  of  mind,  has 
been  known  as  the  "  Trysting  Tree." 

It  is  a  balmy  evening,  and  the  sun  is  about  to  set.  A 
thousand  birds  carol  in  the  orange  atmosphere,  darting  from 
tree  to  tree ;  the  swallows  circle  on  quick  wings  around  the 
stacks  of  chimneys,  up  above  them,  crimson  now  in  the  sun 
set.  It  is  the  hour  above  all  others  favorable  to  lovers,  and 
the  two  personages,  whose  fortunes  we  relate,  are  sitting  on 
the  wicker  seat  of  the  trysting  tree. 

The  attitude  of  Bonnybel  would  make  an  excellent  pic 
ture.  It  is  such  as  we  have  described,  on  the  morning  of 


126  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

Mr.  Linden's  visit,  when  St.  John  and  herself  were  reading 
from  the  book  of  ballads. 

The  coquettish  maiden  leans  back  upon  the  picturesque 
seat.  She  wears  her  pink  dress,  ornamented  with  ribbon 
knots,  and  her  bare  white  arms  are  encircled  by  the  red  cor 
al  bracelets.  A  rebellious  mass  of  curls  has  fallen,  by  the 
purest  accident,  of  course,  upon  her  shoulders,  and  in  the 
same  accidental  way,  a  pair  of  exquisite  feet  appear  from  be 
neath  the  young  lady's  skirt.  This  accident  invariably  hap 
pens  to  Miss  Bonnybel  in  spite  of  her  most  anxious  care. 
They  are  remarkable  feet ;  one  of  the  "  minute  philoso 
phers,"  gifted  with  a  genius  for  poesy  and  exclamation 
points,  might  write  a  chapter  on  their  expression.  They 
are  slender,  with  lofty  insteps,  and  seem  made  to  dance  over 
flowers  and  sunny  sward,  in  the  revels  of  May.  Rich  red 
rosettes  burn  on  the  insteps ;  the  slippers  are  of  blue  mo 
rocco  with  high  heels,  and  pointed  toes ;  they  are  secured 
with  ribbons  crossed  above  the  delicate  ankles.  They  wrap 
themselves  around  each  other  as  before,  and  occasionally 
move  about,  in  a  way  that  would  induce  a  carping  observer 
to  declare  that  the  little  maiden  was  abundantly  aware  of 
their  being  visible,  and  wanted  her  companion  to  admire 
their  beauty. 

As  she  reclines  thus  in  the  rich  light  of  the  balmy  evening, 
which  pours  a  flood  of  joyous  splendor  on  her  face,  her  hair, 
her  dress,  down  to  the  rich  rosettes,  in  bold  relief  against 
the  slender  little  feet,  Miss  Bonnybel  presents  a  picture 
of  the  most  coquettish  beauty ;  at  least  this  is  the  opinion 
of  her  lover,  Mr.  Harry  St.  John. 

He  has  been  relating  for  her  entertainment  the  legend  of 
the  trysting  tree  ;  how  a  lovely  little  ancestress  of  the  Vanely 
family  met  a  youth  here,  who  had  lost  his  heart  with  her ; 
how  the  maiden  played  with  him  and  amused  herself,  and 
gave  him  her  brightest  and  most  encouraging  smiles,  and 
ended  by  haughtily  discarding  him  in  the  flattest  and  most 
surprised  way,  when  he  said  how  madly  he  loved  her.  He 
had  left  her  without  a  word,  with  only  a  profound,  cold  in- 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  127 

clination  of  his  head,  and  for  a  time  the  little  beauty  had 
not  been  able  to  realize  the  fact  that  his  pride  had  been  out 
raged.  She  expected  him  to  return,  but  he  did  not  come. 
She  met  him  at  public  places,  and  beamed  on  him  with  her 
most  coquettish  sunshine ;  he  bowed  and  passed  her  with 
out  speaking.  She  came  to  love  him  with  a  love  greater 
even  than  his  own  former  sentiment  for  her ;  he  did  not 
come.  She  wrote  him  a  laughing,  jesting  note,  inviting 
him  to  Vanely ;  he  excused  himself.  In  a  fit  of  rage  and 
despair  she  married  a  wealthy  planter,  twice  her  age,  and 
on  the  night  of  her  wedding,  stole  from  the  company,  and 
was  found,  in  a  fainting  fit,  on  the  wicker  seat  of  the  trysting 
tree. 

Ten  years  afterwards,  her  lover  was  slain  in  the  great  re 
bellion  of  1676,  and  they  found,  on  his  dead  body,  a  letter  in 
the  hand  \vriting  of  a  woman,  with  the  words,  "  I  loved  you 
and  am  wretched,  for  I  can  never  see  you  more.  Fare 
well.'1'1  The  ball  which  tore  through  his  heart  had  obliter 
ated  the  name  signed  to  the  epistle,  and  it  was  replaced  up 
on  the  pale,  cold  bosom,  and  buried  with  the  body. 

This  was  the  legend  of  the  trysting  tree,  related  by 
St.  John  for  his  companion's  amusement.  Bonnybel 
listens  silently,  and  at  its  termination  says,  with  a  heavy 
sigh, 

"  That 's  just  the  way  with  men ;  they  never  love  truly, 
but  fly  off,  at  a  moment's  warning,  for  a  glance  or  a  word 
they  dislike." 

"  Do  n't  you  think  he  was  right  ?"  said  her  companion. 

"  Right !  who  could  ever  think  so  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  Right  to  leave  the  girl  he  loved,  because  she  did  not 
yield  to  his  suit  at  the  first  word  ?  Forsooth !  you  lords  of 
creation  are  truly  very  reasonable." 

"I  think  he  was  right,"  said  St.  John,  "because  no  man 
should  suffer  his  self  respect  to  be  invaded  even  by  the  wo 
man  he  loves.  If  he  do  n't  respect  himelf,  how  can  she  ? 
It  was  thus  in  the  legend.  The  young  gentleman  loved  the 


128  HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

young  lady  honestly  and  truly ;  she  beckoned  to  him  with 
her  eyes,  and  held  out  her  hands  to  him,  as  't  were,  to  come 
and  receive  them.  Well,  he  obeys  the  enticing  eyes,  and 
smiles ;  he  blushes,  may  be,  with  the  thought  that  he 's 
surely  going  to  be  happy ;  he  is  an  honest  gentleman,  he 
loves  her ;  she  says,  plainly,  '  I  love  you  with  my  whole 
heart,'  though  she  does  not  speak,  and  on  this  hint  he  does 
speak.  But,  instead  of  yielding,  she  looks  indignant ;  she 
is  surprised,  bestows  a  haughty  look  upon  him,  repulses 
him.  Come  now,  my  dear,  could  he  still  remain  beside  her, 
much  less  love  her  ?" 

"  I  '11  thank  you  to  keep  your  { my  dears'  to  yourself,  sir !" 
says  Miss  Bonnybel,  with  a  look  which  says  "  you  may  call 
me  so  as  much  as  you  please."  "  I  think  the  hero  of  the 
legend  acted  as  no  true  lover  could.  Humph  !  to  leave  her, 
and  put  on  his  grand  ail's  when  she  even  condescended  to 
smile,  and  hold  out  her  hand,  and  solicit  him.  I  'd  have 
boxed  his  ears !  Xo  gentleman  really  in  love  could  have 
refused  her  hand." 

"  I  could  have  done  it." 

"Ha!  ha!  I  know  what  you  would  have  done;  you 
would  have  taken  it !  Xow,  just  fancy  me  the  young  lady; 
I  'm  only  a  poor  little  country  maiden,  but  I  shall  act  her 
part." 

And  with  the  most  audacious  and  bewitching  glance, 
crammed  full  of  coquettish  attraction,  and  caressing  bland 
ishment,  Bonnybel  held  out  one  of  her  small  white  hands 
toward  her  companion. 

He  put  both  of  his  own  behind  his  back,  with  a  laugh. 

Bonnybel,  thrown  suddenly  off  her  guard  by  the  action, 
colored  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  and  her  pouting  lips  con 
tracted  with  anger. 

"So  your  lordship  is  determined  to  act  the  part  of 
the  hero  to  the  life,  are  you?"  she  said,  with  flushed 
cheeks. 

"  Yes." 

Bonnybel  turned  from  him  with  a  toss  of  the  head,  and 


HENKT  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  129 

pouting  elaborately,  played  in  a  fretful  way  with  the  tassels 
of  her  girdle. 

St.  John  quietly  waited  for  her  mood  to  change.  He  did 
not  mistake  in  his  calculation.  Bonnybel  played  petulantly 
for  some  moments  longer  with  the  tassels,  then  stole  a  wary 
glance  at  her  lover,  writhed  the  small  slippers  around  each 
other,  and  finally  meeting  Mr.  St.  John's  smiling  eye,  col 
ored  slightly,  and  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  suppose  you  would  refuse  my  hand  if  I  offered  it  in 
my  own  character,  as  simple  Bonnybel  Vane,"  she  said. 

And  with  a  hesitating  movement,  she  released  the  unfor 
tunate  tassels,  and  seemed  about  to  give  the  hand,  but  drew 
it  back  suddenly. 

It  was  too  late. 

"Refuse  your  hand  !"  said  St.  John,  bestowing  upon  the 
young  lady  a  look  so  tender  that  she  turned  crimson,  "I 
should  refuse  it  thus  then !" 

And  imprisoning  not  only  one,  but  both  of  the  soft 
hands  in  his  own,  the  impulsive  lover  drew  Bonnybel 
toward  him,  and  seemed  about  to  press  his  lips  to  her 
own. 

The  young  lady  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  with  a  slight 
struggle  released  herself. 

"  How  dare  you  presume,  sir,"  she  cried,  "  to  try  to  kiss 
me  ?  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"  Cousins,  you  know !"  laughed  the  young  man,  "  't  was 
only  the  cousin's  privilege  I  was  about  to  take  !" 

"  A  pretty  excuse !"  said  the  young  lady,  with  a  rosy 
blush,  and  pouting  more  than  ever,  "and  just  look,  sir! 
my  hair 's  all  tumbled  down  by  your  rudeness." 

In  truth  the  beautiful  brown  hair  lay  in  a  brilliant  mass 
upon  her  shoulders,  and  a  stray  curl  wandered  down  and  fell 
upon  the  young  man's  cheek,  as  he  sat  on  the  projecting 
root  beside  her  feet. 

"  I  can  testify  my  contrition  in  one  way  only,"  he  said, 
smiling,  "  but  you  will  not  let  me." 

"In  what  way,  pray?"  said  Bonnybel,  recovering  her 
6* 


130  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

daring  self-possession,  and  bestowing  upon  him  her  custom 
ary  glance  of  provoking  attraction. 

"  I  will  act  as  your  lady's  maid,"  he  said,  "  I  have  done  so 
often,  you  know." 

And  in  spite  of  some  slight  resistance  on  the  part  of  the 
girl,  he  gathered  up  the  beautiful  locks  and  set  about  ar 
ranging  them.  We  are  bound  to  say  that  the  resistance  of 
fered  by  Miss  Bonnybel  was  such  as  to  make  her  smiling 
companion  think  she  was  not  really  averse  to  his  obliging 
proposal.  Bonnybel  had  the  most  beautiful  hair,  as  soft  and 
glossy  as  silk,  and  she  was  not  unwilling  to  have  it  admired. 
Then,  after  all,  Mr.  Harry  St.  John  was  her  cousin  and  play 
mate,  and  in  Virginia,  ceremony  of  every  sort  faUs  to  the 
ground  before  the  magical  spell  of  "  cousin." 

So  Mr.  Harry  St.  John  applied  himself  assiduously,  but 
not  rapidly,  to  his  task.  Let  not  the  cynical  reader  laugh 
when  we  relate  that  his  pulse  galloped  fast  as  he  took  in  his 
hands  the  bright,  perfumed  curls,  and  touched  the  rosy 
cheek  by  purest  accident.  When  a  young  man  is  as  much  in 
love  as  was  our  hero — we  would  urge  upon  the  critics  in  his 
favor — the  cheek  will  occasionally  flush,  the  heart  will  beat 
— by  singular  good  fortune  the  hearts  of  the  cynical  philoso 
phers  are  never  known  to  beat. 

"There,  sir!"  cried  Bonnybel,  suddenly,  "you've  had 
time  enough  !" 

"  What  beautiful  hair  you  have !"  he  said,  finishing  his 
task,  "  and  how  I  admire  it." 

"  That 's  all  about  me  that  you  admire,  then,  I  suppose." 

"  No  indeed  ;  I  admire  every  thing.  But  I  need  not  as 
sure  you  on  this  point.  In  truth,  Bonnybel,"  added  the 
young  man,  taking  his  former  seat  upon  the  root  at  her  feet, 
"I  do  n't  know  how  I  shall  get  on,  when  I  'm  away  from 
you  now." 

And  there  was  so  much  seriousness  in  his  tone,  that  the 
young  lady,  this  time,  did  not  laugh. 

"You  know  I  go  to  Richmond  town  to-morrow,  and  thence 
to  Williamsburg.  When  I  can  come  again  I  do  n't  know. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  131 

His  Excellency  is  my  master,  you  see,  and  I  've  already 
taken  an  immensely  long  holiday.  I  certainly  calculated  on 
being  arrested,  or  at  the  very  least,  on  a  terrific  explosion. 
But  this  is  not  interesting  to  you.  I  may  escape  the  storm 
of  wrath  and  come  back  some  day." 

"  Not  interesting  to  me  ?"  said  Bonnybel,  passing,  as  she 
often  did,  from  mirth  and  jest  to  sadness,  and  looking  at  the 
young  man  as  she  spoke,  with  her  large,  sad,  serious  eyes ; 
"  why  do  you  say  that  what  concerns  you  can  not  interest 
me?" 

St.  John  sighed. 

"  I  do  n't  mean,  my  dear — but  you  do  not  like  me  to  call 
you,  '  my  dear ' — " 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Well,  I  do  n't  mean  that  you  '11  not  take  a  certain  in 
terest  in  my  life,  dear,  for  we  are  of  one  blood.  But  I  find 
myself  doubting  the  reality  of  any  deep  sympathy  in  any 
one.  You  see,  Bonnybel,  I  never  knew  my  father  or  my 
mother,  that  is,  they  are  mere  figures  of  my  early  childhood. 
It  is  true  that  uncle  and  aunt  have  been  as  kind  to  me  as 
kind  can  be,  but  I  have  always  felt,  as  it  were,  alone  in  the 
world." 

"  That  is  not  just ;  you  know  how  much  we — all — love 
you." 

"  Then  you  will  be  glad  to  know  that  I  am  well  and  hap 
py  ?  You  say  '  we  all."1  Does  that  mean  that  you  care  any 
thing  for  me  ?"  he  whispered,  taking  her  hand  and  gazing 
into  her  eyes,  with  a  long,  fixed  look. 

With  the  beautiful  head  sorrowfully  drooping  over  the 
right  shoulder,  and  her  large,  sad  eyes,  fixed  on  his  own,  the 
young  girl,  not  withdrawing  her  hand,  murmured  in  a  low 
voice, 

"  Yes." 

The  sweetest  hours  of  evening  had  descended  on  them, 
as  they  tarried  beneath  the  old  trysting  tree,  and  the  orange 
west  grew  fainter  as  the  great  orb  sank  slowly  to  its  couch 
in  the  purple  waves.  The  east  began  to  "twinkle  with  a 


132  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

million  stars,  and  the  balmy  breeze  of  the  ocean  sighed 
through  the  great  boughs  above,  and  died  away  in  a  low 
murmur.  The  birds  had  folded  up  their  wings  and  gone  to 
rest,  the  last  lingering  rays  of  sunset  rose  like  golden  crowns 
from  the  lofty  chimneys  of  the  old  hall.  The  whole  land 
scape  sank,  field  after  field,  tint  after  tint,  into  warm  and 
dreamy  sleep. 

St.  John  held  in  his  own  the  unresisting  hand  of  the  young 
lady,  and  those  words  which  determine  often  the  fate  of  a 
whole  life,  were  on  his  lips.  As  he  gazed  upon  the  exquis 
ite  countenance ;  upon  the  large  eyes  swimming  in  pensive 
sadness  ;  upon  the  graceful  head,  with  its  clustering  curls 
drooping  toward  the  shoulder  ;  upon  the  pouting  lips,  half 
parted,  as  in  some  dreamy  reverie,  his  glance  grew  more 
fixed  and  tender,  his  cheek  flushed  impetuously,  and  he 
drew  the  hand  he  held  toward  him. 

Poor  St.  John !  Unfortunate  lover !  Suddenly  a  voice 
greets  him — a  voice  from  behind — and  Miss  Seraphina,  in 
capacious  sunbonnet,  and  holding  a  bunch  of  May  flowers, 
is  added  to  the  party.  She  has  been  out  walking,  and  on 
her  return,  seeing  the  two  young  people  at  the  trysting 
tree,  has  determined  to  bestow  her  company  upon  them. 
Approaching  from  behind,  she  had  remained  unseen,  until 
they  were  in  contact  almost. 

Miss  Seraphina  does  or  does  not  suspect  something ;  but 
at  least  she  smiles,  and  launches  forth  cheerfully  on  a  variety 
of  subjects.  St.  John  utters  an  inaudible  sigh,  and  as  Bon- 
nybel  says  that  it  is  time  for  her  to  go  in,  accompanies  the 
ladies  to  the  house. 

The  young  man  and  Miss  Bonnybel  seemed  both  pre 
occupied  throughout  the  early  part  of  the  evening,  but  to 
ward  bed-time  the  young  lady's  gayety  seemed  to  return, 
and  she  bade  farewell  to  Mr.  St.  John,  who  was  going  with 
the  Vanely  race-horses  to  Richmond,  at  an  ealy  hour,  with 
her  former  air  of  mischief  and  coquettish  satire. 

"  I  trust  your  lordship  will  very  soon  return,"  she  said  ; 
"  the  next  time,  I  promise  to  be  in  the  drawing-room  with 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN",    GENTLEMAN.  133 

my  hair  elegantly  dressed,  and  you  '11  kiss  me  at  your  peril, 
sir !  We  '11  surely  meet  at  the  assembly,  but  I  count  on 
having  you  come  back  before  that  time.  Pray  do  so,  if 
you  think  the  inducements  here  sufficient.  A  pleasant  jour 
ney  !" 

And  giving  him  her  hand,  with  an  audacious  glance  from 
her  dangerous  eyes,  the  young  lady  dashed  up  the  broad 
stair-case,  candle  in  hand,  and  disappeared. 

Mr.  St.  John  was  "finished,"  but  his  smile  seemed  to  indi 
cate  that  he  felt  any  thing  but  pain. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ST.   JOHN  MAKES   HIS   ENTRY  INTO   RICHMOND  TOWN. 

ON  the  following  morning,  at  early  dawn,  the  young  man 
was  in  the  saddle,  and  followed  by  the  grooms,  leading  the 
race-horses,  set  out  for  Richmond  town.  He  had  volunteered 
his  services  to  see  his  uncle's  horses  safely  conveyed  and 
entered  at  the  races  there* — his  intention  being  to  proceed 
thence  to  Wllliamsburg. 

The  cavalcade  traveled  slowly  in  order  that  the  horses 
might  be  in  the  best  possible  condition,  and  as  the  races 
did  not  take  place  till  the  next  day,  St.  John  stopped  and 
spent  the  night  at  Cawson's,  the  residence  of  his  friend, 
Colonel  Theodoric  Bland.  Little  John  Randolph,  and  his 
mother  were  still  there,  and  the  young  man  held  in  his  arms 
the  afterwards  celebrated  orator  of  Roanoke. 

On  the  next  morning,  early,  with  the  exchange  of  many 
cordial  good  wishes,  he  set  out  again  on  his  journey,  and 
crossing  in  the  ferry-boat,  entered  Richmond  town  in  the 
midst  of  an  enormous  crowd,  attracted  by  the  double  festi 
val  of  the  fair  and  the  races. 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XIII. 


134  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

The  town  was  scarcely  more  than  a  village  straggling 
along  a  winding  creek  which  emptied  its  bright  waters  into 
the  James,  flowing  in  serene  majesty  from  the  foot  of  the 
falls  away  into  the  immense  forest. 

On  a  hill  to  the  west,  above  the  river,  foaming  over  huge 
rocks,  and  encircling  the  verdurous  islands  scattered  over  its 
bosom,  rose  from  the  foliage  of  May  the  single  fine  dwelling 
house  of  the  town,  "  Belvidere,"  some  time  the  residence  of 
Colonel  William  Byrd,  whose  large  warehouse  for  tobacco 
rose  above  the  village.  On  the  opposite  hill,  to  the  east, 
the  old  church  of  St.  John  peeped  from  the  forest,  and  was 
gilded  by  the  brilliant  sunlight. 

As  the  young  man  passed  on  through  the  row  of  log  houses, 
with  their  wooden  chimneys,  against  which  an  ordinance 
had  been  lately  passed,  he  saw  representatives  of  every 
clime  almost.  There  were  Dutch  and  Portuguese  from 
sloops  in  the  river,  negroes  just  landed  from  Africa,  and 
vagrant  Indians  come  to  purchase  rum  with  their  furs.  The 
Africans  spoke  their  native  dialect,  and  the  rest  a  broken 
patois,  and  the  numerous  goats  swarming  in  the  streets,  and 
peering  into  every  thing,  added  their  bleating  to  the  hubbub. 

Almost  every  class  and  tongue  was  represented  in  the 
streets,  from  the  swaggering  foreign  sailor  to  the  well-bred 
gentleman  in  his  coach,  and  the  small  village,  usually  so  ob 
scure,  had  become  almost  a  city  on  this  the  day  of  the  fair. 

Mr.  St.  John  pushed  his  way  onward,  through  men,  and 
women,  and  children,  and  goats,  and  reached  the  door  of 
the  tavern,  a  long  building  overflowing  with  revelers. 

He  had  his  animals  baited,  and  then  applied  himself  vig 
orously  to  the  substantial  viands  set  respectfully  before  him 
by  mine  host  of  the  "  Rising  Sun."  Having  satisfied  his 
material  wants,  he  issued  forth  and  looked  around  him  on 
the  hubbub  of  the  fair. 

It  was  a  sufficiently  entertaining  sight,  and  worthy  of  the 
pencil  of  Hogarth.  Unfortunately,  we  do  not  possess  the 
burin  of  that  great  humorous  genius,  and  must  content  our 
selves  with  saying  that  those  favorite  deities  of  Virginia, 


HENKY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  135 

Fun  and  Frolic,  seemed  to  be  ruling  the  great  crowd  des 
potically, 

This  crowd  was,  as  we  have  said,  of  every  possible  descrip 
tion  of  personage — from  the  wealthy  and  richly  dressed  Vir 
ginia  planter,  to  the  traveling  showman  announcing,  in  dis 
cordant  accents,  like  a  bull  of  Bashan,  from  the  opening  of 
his  canvas  booth,  the  wonders  of  his  three-headed  pig,  or  his 
greyhound  with  eight  legs. 

The  great  master  of  the  science  of  thimble-rig  here  puz 
zled  the  rustic  clod-hoppers  with  his  feats  of  legerdemain  ; 
a  step  further,  a  serene  and  solemn  gentleman  was  stationed 
in  the  rear  of  a  table  covered  with  a  figured  cloth,  on  which 
a  number  of  pistoles  would  be  laid  down  by  betters,  to  be 
raked  immediately  into  Mr.  Sweatcloth's  pouch ;  still,  a  step 
further,  an  Italian  boy  turned  summersets,  and  sang  and 
played  with  his  monkey,  and  from  the  crowd  assembled 
round  these  various  spectacles,  and  games,  and  exhibitions, 
came  a  ceaseless  buzz  of  talk  and  laughter,  rising  at  times  into 
a  shout  almost,  and  deafening  the  ears  with  joyous  discord. 

Mr.  St.  John  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  exchang 
ing  greetings  with  a  hundred  acquaintances,  and  entered 
the  grounds  of  the  fair  proper. 

Here  it  was  no  longer  confusion  only — it  was  Babel.  A 
specimen  brick,  so  to  speak,  had  been  brought  from  the  edi 
fices  of  dealers  in  all  imaginable  commodities,  and  Mr.  St. 
John  found  himself  assailed  on  a  dozen  sides,  in  as  many  mo 
ments,  by  the  merchants. 

Would  his  honor  like  this  fine  saddle?  or  perhaps  this 
handsome  cloth  ?  But  before  the  victim  could  reply,  he 
was  entreated,  by  the  merchant  opposite,  to  purchase  a  full 
set  of  variegated  china. 

Would  he  look  at  these  buckskin  knee-breeches,  as  fine 
and  pliable  as  satin  ?  And  no  sooner  had  Mr.  St.  John  de 
clined  the  knee-breeches,  than  a  country  lass  offered  him  a 
set  of  frilled  shirts,  which  seemed  to  have  been  made  with 
especial  reference  to  the  foam  of  the  sea,  so  elaborate  and 
immense  were  the  ruffles. 


136  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAK. 

The  young  man  put  aside  every  thing,  laughing,  and  went 
through  the  whole  grounds  uncaptured.  He  paused  beside 
more  than  one  chariot  to  pay  his  respects  to  young  ladies, 
and  finally  found  himself  opposite  the  judge  of  the  races  on 
the  ensuing  day. 

The  judge  was  a  portly  gentleman,  of  about  thirty,  with 
a  large  bundle  of  watch  seals,  an  enormous  frill,  and  a  bear 
ing  at  once  dignified  and  agreeable.  He  wore  a  huge  peruke, 
fine  buckskin  breeches,  and  fairtop  boots  with  spurs — boots 
covering  feet  of  the  dimensions  of  kneading  troughs. 

His  large  hands  were  encased  in  gloves,  and  the  right  glove 
held  the  handle  of  a  riding  whip,  ornamented  with  silver. 

When  this  worthy  saw  Mr.  St.  John,  he  made  him  a  pro 
found  bow,  but  immediately  raised  his  head  with  dignity. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Lugg,"  said  St.  John,  shaking  hands  in  a 
friendly  way,  "I  have  come  to  enter  some  horses.  How 
are  the  lists  ?" 

"  Pretty  well  filled,  Mr.  St.  John,"  replied  Mr.  Lugg,  sa 
luting  an  humble  passer  by  in  a  friendly  and  condescending 
way  ;  "  pretty  full,  sir,  but  we  're  glad  to  have  as  many  en 
tries  for  the  purse  as  possible." 

"  I  forewarn  you — Belsize  or  Serapis  will  win  it." 

"  That 's  as  it  may  be,  sir,  for  there  are  some  beauties  en 
tered." 

"  Have  you  any  horse  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir — that  is,  a  mare.  If  there  's  a  question  con 
nected  with  her,  of  course  I  do  n't  act  as  judge." 

"  Exactly.    What 's  her  name  ?" 

"  I  call  her  Donsy,  sir — after  my  lady.  A  thorough-bred, 
by  Selim,  the  Arabian  of  my  friend,  Captain  Waters,  out  of 
Juliet,  whom  I  purchased  of  my  friend  and  neighbor,  Mr. 
Champ  Eifingham.  He  wished  to  make  me  a  present  of  the 
mare,  but  of  course  I  could  n't  accept." 

And  Mr.  Lugg  raised  his  head  with  dignity. 

Mr.  St.  John  smiled,  and  asked  his  companion  to  come 
and  Io6k  at  his  horses,  and  see  Mr.  Gunn  with  him — this 
latter  gentleman  being  the  manager  of  the  races. 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAK.  137 

Mr.  Lugg  obeyed  with  alacrity,  and  more  than  once  re 
turned  a  salute  from  a  gentleman  riding  by — holding  Mr. 
St.  John's  arm. 

They  went  to  the  race  course,  which  was  in  an  old  field, 
toward  the  east,  and  to  the  stables. 

Mr.  Lugg,  and  his  friend  Gunn,  expatiated  at  length  upon 
the  merits  of  the  different  horses,  and  bestowed  discriminat 
ing  praise  upon  Belsize  and  Serapis,  who  had  already  been 
entered  by  Mr.  St.  John's  servant. 

They  then  returned,  conversing,  to  the  inn. 

Night  fell  upon  the  fair,  but  it  did  not  diminish  the 
revelry.  In  the  great  room  of  the  "  Rising  Sun,"  especi 
ally,  was  the  uproar  perfectly  tremendous. 

When  Mr.  St.  John  entered  this  apartment,  his  attention 
was  attracted  by  a  figure  mounted  on  the  great  table,  high 
above  the  immense  roaring  crowd,  which  figure  shook  in 
his  hand  a  parchment,  and,  with  violent  gesticulations,  de 
manded  to  be  heard. 

At  last  Mr.  St.  John  made  out  that  the  orator  was  offer 
ing  the  title  deed  of  a  lot  in  the  town  of  Richmond,  to  any 
one  who  would  treat  the  crowd,  himself  included,  to  a  bowl 
of  punch,  of  the  best  Scotch  whiskey. 

The  young  man  looked  on,  curiously,  to  see  what  suc 
cess  this  offer  would  meet  with,  and  his  patience  was  re 
warded. 

A  little  personage  with  a  tie-wig  jostled  through  the 
crowd,  and  took  and  examined  the  parchment.  The  exam 
ination  seemed  satisfactory,  and  the  gentleman  in  the  wig 
signified  his  willingness  to  close  with  the  owner's  proposi 
tion. 

The  crowd  received  the  speech  with  shouts  of  applause, 
and  mine  host  was  ordered  to  brew  an  ocean  of  punch,  the 
offer  being  unlimited. 

Mr.  St.  John  saw  the  gentleman  in  the  tie-wig  roll  up 
the  title-deed  and  retire,  after  speaking  to  the  landlord ; 
and  then  the  young  man  retired  too,  fatigued  with  his 
ride. 


138  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

As  to  the  parchment  thus  purchased,  it  was  the  title-deed 
of  the  square  upon  which  St.  Paul's  Church  now  stands,  in 
the  city  of  Richmond. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

IN  WHICH   THE   AUTHOR   OMITS   DESCRIBING  THE   RACES. 

WE  have  said  that  nothing  but  the  pencil  of  Hogarth 
could  depict  the  humors  of  the  streets  of  Richmond  town, 
when  Mr.  St.  John  arrived. 

We  add,  that  even  this  great  humorist  would  have  had 
his  powers  taxed  to  their  utmost  by  the  scenes  on  the  race 
course  upon  the  following  day. 

We  shall  scarcely  attempt  to  outline  them,  for  we  feel 
how  powerless  would  be  the  endeavor.  It  is  enough  to  say 
that  the  old  field  presented  the  appearance  of  Pandemoni 
um  broke  loose ;  that  cock-fights,  dog-fights,  rat  and  terrier 
combats,  and  human  fisticuff  engagements,  were  the  lesser 
and  more  unimpressive  details  of  what  seemed  a  tremen 
dous  orgy. 

The  crowd  was  huger,  the  traveling  gamblers  more  inde 
fatigable,  the  Italian  and  his  monkey  turned  wilder  sum 
mersets,  and  through  this  mass  of  "low  life"  and  revelry, 
a  thrill  of  delight  and  expectation  seemed  to  run,  which 
changed  to  resounding  acclamations  when  the  horses  were 
led  forth. 

Mr.  St.  John,  by  express  kindness  of  his  friend,  L.  Lugg, 
Esquire,  chief  judge,  was  accommodated  with  a  seat  in  the 
judges'  stand — a  little  round  tower,  fronting  the  balcony, 
and  looking  down  upon  the  concourse. 

The  young  man  gazed  with  that  interest  and  curiosity, 
which  is  said  to  be  peculiar  to  Virginians,  upon  the  spec 
tacle. 


HESTJY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMABT.  139 

Beneath  him  the  crowd  reeled  and  flowed  to  and  fro  in 
waves;  rich  chariots  shot  by  like  stars,  full  of  little  beauties 
in  diamonds  and  lace,  or  portly  old  fellows  in  enormous  ruf 
fles;  the  dog-fights,  cock-fights,  man-fights,  went  on  in  a 
ceaseless  uproar. 

Above  and  fronting  him  was  a  spectacle  somewhat  differ 
ent.  In  the  wide  balcony  a  mass  of  dames  and  gentlemen 
resembled,  with  their  variegated  costumes,  a  blooming 
flower-garden  ;  and  the  sparkling  eyes,  red  cheeks,  and  lips 
ever  smiling,  indicated  how  much  pleasure  the  young  ladies 
expected  from  the  race. 

Alas !  for  the  cause  of  morality  and  solemnity !  'T  is  much 
the  same,  says  our  author,  in  all  ages.  Whether  princess 
or  young  lady,  damsel  or  lass  of  the  mill,  they,  one  and  all, 
are  the  same  foolish,  giddy  creatures !  They  all  love  fine 
dresses,  and  colors  of  the  rainbow  !  They  thrill  one  and  all 
at  a  festival  or  jubilee  !  They  like  gallants,  and  admiration, 
and  pretty  speeches,  and  amusement !  and  I  do  n't  think,  Sir 
Diogenes,  they  are  heathen  ! 

The  horses  are  led  up  and  down  through  the  crowd — the 
cock-fights,  dog-fights,  man-fights,  disappear — a  thrill  of  ad 
miration  even  runs  through  the  bevy  of  fair  girls. 

The  horses  are  stripped  and  saddled.  They  are  the  cream 
of  Virginia  racers,  and  they  know  what  they  are  expected 
to  perform. 

The  boys  are  tossed  into  the  saddle,  the  drum  tapped, 
and  the  animals  vanish  from  the  stand  like  meteors  on  the 
circular  track. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  dwell  on  the  details  of  the  races, 
or  on  the  singular  and  laughable  scenes  which  followed  them. 
If  the  reader  would  see  that  jolly  period  rise  up  from  the 
mists  of  oblivion,  renew  its  faded  colors,  and  unroll  its  wide 
tapestry  of  fun  and  revelry ;  if  he  would  know  how  our 
ancestors  amused  themselves  and  carried  on,  he  has  only  to 
consult  the  "  Virginia  Gazette,"  and  the  advertisement  of  the 
frolic  on  St.  Andrew's  day,  at  Captain  John  Bickerton's  old 
field  in  Hanover,  to  see  the  whole  spectacle  again.  He  will 


140  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

see  how  the  hat  worth  twenty  shillings  was  cudgeled  for ; 
how  a  violin  was  played  for,  and  then  how  they  all  played 
different  tunes  at  once ;  how  a  quire  of  ballads  was  sung  for, 
and  silver  buckles  wrestled  for,  and  a  pair  of  handsome  shoes 
and  stockings  danced  for — the  stockings  to  be  given  to  the 
prettiest  girl  upon  the  ground. 

All  this  the  honest  and  veracious  old  "  Gazette"  sets  forth 
— every  other  word  commencing  with  a  capital — and  there 
we  read  it  all  to-day.  How  can  the  poor  chronicler  depict 
it  ?  He  listens  with  respectful  attention  to  the  fiddlers,  and 
hears  the  maidens'  voices  singing  for  the  book  of  ballads, 
and  bows  to  the  prettiest  girl  upon  the  ground,  who  got  the 
stockings — bows  low,  quite  careless  whether  she  be  diamond- 
decorated  maiden  or  poor  country  lass,  caring  to  know  noth 
ing  but  her  beauty.  The  chronicler  thus  hears,  and  sees, 
and  laughs,  and  looks  down  on  the  rout,  or  up  to  the 
balcony,  with  its  starry  eyes — but  that  is  all.  He  can  not 
describe  you,  bright  young  men  and  maidens !  though  he 
hears  your  mirth  and  laughter  chiming  through  the  mists 
of  the  century  that  is  gone.  He  drops  the  corner  of  the 
curtain  he  has  raised  for  a  moment,  and  passes  onward, 
smiling. 

We  shall  not  further  dwell  upon  the  races,  or  the  fair,  but 
simply  say  that,  on  the  following  morning,  Mr.  St.  John  or 
dered  "  Tallyho,"  and  turned  his  face  toward  Williamsburg. 

The  following  note,  however,  went  back,  with  Serapis  and 
Belsize,  to  Vanely : 

"  AT  SHOCCOE'S,  Thursday  morning. 
"  MY  DEAK  UNCLE, 

"I  am  just  getting  into  the  saddle  for  Williamsbiirg, 
but  write  to  say  that  Serapis  won  the  purse.  He  was  nearly 
distanced  the  first  heat,  but  won  the  two  others  over  every 
horse  upon  the  ground.  He  's  worth  a  thousand  pounds. 

"  Tom  bears  you  this.  I  go  to  Williamsburg,  but  hope 
soon  to  see  you  all  again  at  Vanely. 

"  Your  dutiful  nephew, 

ST.  JOHN." 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  141 

Having  delivered  this  note  to  the  negro,  Mr.  St.  John  got 
into  the  saddle,  and  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd,  to 
ward  the  hill  upon  which  stood  old  St.  John's  Church. 


CHAPTEK   XXY. 

• 

HOW    ME.    ST.    JOHN    ENCOUNTERED   A    STRANGER,    AND    OB1 
WHAT  THEY   CONVERSED. 

THE  road  which  the  young  man  pursued  led  around  the 
hill  in  a  sort  of  curving  ascent,  and  passing  by  the  church 
of  St.  John,  debouched  from  the  town  in  the  dh-ection  of 
"  Bloody  Run,"  where  Bacon  had  defeated  the  Indian  army 
a  hundred  years  before. 

He  looked  back  upon  the  town,  as  he  arrived  at  the  sum 
mit,  and  was  so  much  impressed  by  the  beauty  of  the  land 
scape  that  he  dismounted,  and  tied  his  horse  to  the  bough 
of  a  tree,  and  entered  the  grounds  of  the  ^church,  seeking 
for  the  highest  point  of  view. 

He  found  this  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  old  edifice, 
and  threading  his  way  among  the  tombstones  of  three  gen 
erations,  paused  upon  a  grassy  hillock,  and  feasted  his  eyes 
upon  the  scene. 

It  is  beautiful  to-day — it  was  far  more  lovely  then.  The 
majestic  river,  far  beneath  him,  poured  its  waves  from  the 
western  hills  around  islands  of  dipping  foliage,  and  over  rocks 
which  broke  its  waters  into  foam,  and  then,  tired  of  this  con 
tention,  flowed  away  in  serene  majesty  toward  the  sea.  Far 
away  to  the  south,  it  wound  into  view  again,  the  white  sails 
of  barks  glittering  on  its  bosom  against  the  green  forest — 
that  immense  forest  which  seemed  to  clasp  the  whole  land 
scape  in  its  embrace.  At  the  foot  of  the  high  hill,  scattered 
along  the  brook,  were  the  houses  of  the  town,  and  in  the 
west  rose  the  walls  of  Belvidere,  embowered  in  foliage,  and 


142  HENBY   ST.    JOHN,    GEKTLEMAK. 

looking  down  serenely  on  the  village.  Over  the  whole  scene 
drooped  the  warm  and  golden  atmosphere,  and  a  great  pile 
of  clouds,  like  snow  drift,  floated  away  toward  the  southern 
horizon. 

The  beautiful  spectacle  was  not  without  its  effect  upon 
the  young  man,  whose  mind  and  heart,  for  a  moment  di 
verted  by  the  scenes  of  the  fair,  now  returned  with  new 
pleasure  to  his  possessing  thought. 

It  was  the  face  of  a  girl  which  he  saw  in  the  clouds  and 
the  mirror-like  river ;  it  was  her  voice  which  he  heard  in 
the  murmur  of  the  breeze,  and  the  mellow  music  of  the 
laughing  water,  foaming  over  moss-clad  rocka.  Her  image 
had  been  obscured  by  the  grotesque  scenes,  and  the  passion 
and  uproar  of  the  race-course  ;  now,  however,  he  was  alone 
with  nature,  and  in  the  midst  of  purity  and  peace,  her  beau 
tiful  face  came  back  to  him,  and  filled  his  heart  with  glad 
ness. 

The  erect  brows  of  the  young  man  drooped  ;  he  leaned 
against  the  trunk  of  one  of  the  old  trees,  and  lowering  his 
eyes,  fixed  them  with  idle  and  dreamy  pleasure  on  the  flow 
ery  sward. 

He  remained  thus  silent  and  absorbed,  scarcely  conscious 
of  the  outer  world,  for  nearly  an  hour — absorbed  in  one  of 
those  reveries  which  come  at  times  to  all.  Place  and  time 
had  disappeared — he  was  alone  with  his  love. 

He  was  aroused  by  a  distant  muttering  of  thunder,  and 
by  a  heavy  drop  of  rain  falling  upon  his  face. 

He  looked  up.  The  whole  scene  had  changed.  Heavy 
clouds  obscured  the  sky,  fringed  beneath  by  a  long,  ragged 
line  of  fire ;  and  as  he  gazed,  the  far  horizon  was  illumi 
nated  by  successive  flashes  of  lurid  lightning,  which  shone, 
with  dazzling  brilliancy,  against  the  black  masses  of  the 
thunder  clouds.  The  May  morning  had  been  obscured  thus 
suddenly  by  one  of  those  thunder  storms  which  rush  into 
the  skies  of  Virginia,  at  this  season  of  the  year,  with  scarcely 
a  moment's  warning,  and  the  brooding  darkness,  which  ad 
vanced,  like  a  giant  towering  from  earth  to  heaven,  over 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN".  143 

river,  and  field,  and  forest,  proved  that  the  storm  about  to 
burst  would  be  one  of  no  ordinary  violence. 

The  young  man  had  scarcely  taken  in  with  a  glance  the 
state  of  things,  when  the  heavy  drops  began  to  patter  more 
rapidly  through  the  trees  ;  a  huge  wall,  apparently,  of  mist 
advanced  rapidly  from  the  west,  and  accompanied  by  vivid 
lightning  flashes,  and  deafening  peals  of  thunder,  as  its  her 
alds,  the  storm  was  upon  him. 

He  threw  a  glance  toward  "  Tallyho,"  who  was  sheltered 
somewhat  by  the  great  oak,  beneath  which  he  was  tied,  and 
then  hastened  to  the  door  of  the  church  for  shelter. 

He  struck  it  with  his  hand,  and  fortunately  it  was  open. 
He  entered  just  at  the  moment  when  the  storm  roared  down 
upon  the  hill,  lashing  it  with  all  its  power,  and  making  the 
building  shake  and  quiver. 

St.  John  found  himself  in  Tan  old  edifice,  almost  dark,  and 
at  first  he  scarcely  saw  his  way. 

The  windows  were  for  the  most  part  closed,  but  through 
those  which  remained  open  the  dazzling  flashes  of  lightning 
streamed  fearfully,  preluding  roars  of  thunder  like  a  thou 
sand  cannon. 

The  young  man  had  advanced  toward  the  tub-shaped  pul 
pit,  and  was  standing  with  one  hand  upon  the  railing  of  the 
chancel,  when  he  heard  issue,  as  it  were,  from  beneath  his 
feet,  the  words, 

"  A  dangerous  thunder-storm,  sir ;  you  are  fortunate  in 
finding  refuge  from  it." 

He  started  and  turned  round.  At  the  same  moment,  a 
vivid  flash  of  lightning  lit  up  the  building,  and  a  step  be 
neath  him,  in  the  door  of  the  vestry-room,  St.  John  discov 
ered  the  figure  of  a  man,  clad  in  somber  and  severe  black. 

It  was  the  singular  individual  whom  we  have  seen  in  the 
tall,  tower-like  edifice  in  Williamsburg — an  the  underground 
printing  office — beneath  the  boughs  of  the  forest — and  in  the 
chamber  of  his  child,  as  he  prepared  to  set  forth  on  his  mid 
night  journey. 

His  appearance  had  not  changed.    There  was  the  same 


144  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN". 

expression  of  iron  calmness,  the  same  steady  fire  in  the  dark 
eyes,  the  same  air,  as  of  one  who  is  possessed  by  an  intel 
lectual  fanaticism,  an  absorbing  idea,  which  never  for  a  mo 
ment  disappears  from  his  mind. 

St.  John  gazed  for  a  moment  at  the  pale  face,  and  the  nerv 
ous  figure,  which  seemed  like  a  collection  of  steel  springs. 
He  was  trying  to  remember  where  he  had  met  with  the 
stranger  before.  That  he  had  encountered  him  somewhere, 
he  was  perfectly  well  assured.  But  where  ?  The  attempt 
to  recall  the  time  or  place  was  vain ;  he  gave  up  the  search. 

To  the  deep-toned  words  of  the  stranger,  he  replied, 

"  Yes,  a  dangerous  storm,  sir  ;  pardon  my  staring  at  you 
so  very  rudely,  but  I  fancied  we  had  met  before." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  stranger,  gravely. 

"  Your  appearance  in  the  darkness  somewhat  startled  me. 
I  had  expected  to  find  this  old  building  vacant,  and  almost 
recoiled  when  you  spoke  from  the  shadow." 

"  I  confess  my  appearance  was  somewhat  melo-dramatic," 
replied  the  stranger,  advancing  from  the  door  with  a  mea 
sured  movement,  "  but  my  presence  here,  like  yours,  is  very 
simple." 

"  I  took  refuge  from  the  storm." 

"  And  I  came  to  look  at  this  building." 

St.  John's  look  denoted  that  he  had  failed  to  understand. 

"  You  wished  to  see  the  church  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir — its  capacity." 

"  Its  capacity  ?" 

"In  other  words,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  "how  many 
persons  could  assemble  within  its  walls." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  think  I  understand. 
There  is  to  be  an  ecclesiastical  convention." 

"  I  have  not  heard  of  it,  sir." 

"What  then?"   ' 

"  A  convention  of  persons  employed  in  other  matters,  per 
haps.  Possibly  a  meeting  of  the  Burgesses." 

"  The  Burgesses  ?» 

"  Why  not  ?» 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  145 

"I  thought  that  honorable  body  sat  in  Williamsburg, 
sir." 

The  stranger  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  during  this 
pause,  his  dark  eyes,  piercing  and  brilliant,  and  foil  of 
gloomy  earnestness,  fixed  themselves  upon  the  face  of  his 
companion. 

"  Williamsburg  is  truly  the  present  place  of  meeting  of 
the  Burgesses,"  he  said  in  his  deep  voice,  "  but  do  you  think 
they  will  sit  there  long  ?" 

"  Ah  !  I  understand — you  refer  to  Lord  Dunmore  ?" 

The  stranger  nodded. 

"You  mean  that  he  will  coerce  them?" 

"  Is  it  very  improbable  ?" 

"It  is  just  the  contrary." 

"  Well,  then,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  thoughtfully,  "  do 
you  think  it  strange  that  another  place  besides  Williams- 
burg  is  looked  to  ?  But,  your  pardon.  Perhaps  I  speak  to 
a  gentleman  having  no  sympathy  with  the  cause — to  one 
connected  with  Lord  Dunmore  ?" 

At  that  name  the  young  man's  face  had  already  clouded 
over,  and  his  eyes  assumed  an  expression  of  disdain  and 
menace. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  coldly,  "I  am  connected  with  his  lord 
ship." 

The  stranger  made  a  movement  of  his  head. 

"  I  am  lieutenant  of  his  '  guards,'  so  styled." 

"I  can  not  congratulate  you,  sir,"  said  the  stranger, 
gloomily,  "  but  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  I  have  something  to  add,  however,"  returned  St.  John, 
disdainfully,  "  and  it  is  this,  sir :  that  I  cordially  despise  his 
Excellency,  and  throw  the  commission  I  've  held  in  his  face !" 

The  stranger  advanced  a  step,  his  gloomy  look  changing 
to  one  of  animation. 

"  You  do  not  then  approve  of  this  gentleman  ?"  he  said. 

"  I  deny  that  he  's  a  particle  of  a  gentleman !"  returned 
the  young  man,  coldly  ;  "  he 's  a  vulgar  fellow,  and  if  he 
asks  me  my  opinion,  I  '11  tell  him  so !" 


146  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

The  stranger's  face  glowed. 

"  Then  you  are  of  the  opposition,  sir  ?"  he  said  in  his  deep 
voice. 

"  To  the  death  !» 

"  You  are  a  patriot  ?" 

"  I  know  not  what  you  mean  by  the  word,"  returned  St. 
John,  coldly ;  "  if,  however,  it  signifies  a  man  who  regards 
the  legislation  of  Parliament  as  odious  and  despotic ;  who 
would  war  to  the  death  against  the  tyrannical  enactments 
let  loose  upon  Virginia,  like  a  brood  of  cormorants ;  above 
all,  who  would  gladly  march  at  the  head  of  a  regiment  to 
drive  this  man,  Dunmore,  from  the  capital  of  the  province, 
and  lash  him  like  a  hound  from  our  borders — if  this  is  what 
you  call  being  a  patriot,  sir,  I  'm  one  to  all  lengths  I" 

As  the  young  man  spoke  in  his  bold  and  earnest  voice, 
with  its  disdainful  and  passionate  sternness,  the  form  of  the 
stranger  seemed  to  dilate  with  satisfaction,  his  strange  eyes 
grew  more  brilliant,  and  his  pale  cheek  was  tinged  with  a 
slight  color. 

He  advanced  and  said  : 

"  Then  you  would  oppose  Parliament  ?" 

"  To  the  bitter  end !» 

"  You  would  resist  the  execution  of  its  acts  in  the  prov 
ince  ?" 

"  With  arms,  if  necessaiy !" 

"  You  would  levy  war  against  the  Governor." 

"As  cheerfully  as  a  bridegroom  assembles  his  friends  to 
ride  to  his  wedding !" 

The  stranger  seemed  to  glow  with  gloomy  satisfaction 
as  he  listened  to  these  disdainful  words.  But  he  restrained 
himself. 

"  Do  you  know  that  the  words  you  have  uttered  are  dan 
gerous?"  he  said. 

"  Perfectly,"  said  St.  John. 

"  That  I  may  be  a  spy  and  informer  ?" 

"  I  care  not." 

"  That  the  Governor  may  arrest  you  and  send  you  to  rot 


HENBY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  147 

in  a  piison  ship,  or  swing  from  Tyburn  tree,  by  the  verdict 
of  an  English  jury  ?" 

"  Stop !"  said  St.  John,  as  coldly  as  before ;  "  there  you 
are  mistaken,  sir !" 

"  Mistaken  ?» 

"  You  lose  sight  of  one  thing — the  fact  that  I  wear  a 
sword  !  and  that  before  the  tools  of  Dunmore  arrest  me — " 

"  Yes,  yes  ?» 

"  I  will  drive  it  to  the  hilt  in  his  cowardly  breast !"  said 
St.  John,  carried  away  with  rage ;  "  if  I  'm  hanged  for  trea 
son  it  shall  be  for  something !  But  this  is  idle,  sir.  I  talk 
like  a  school-boy,  and  I  get  blood-thirsty.  I  mean  that  my 
contempt  for  this  man  is  so  deep,  my  jealousy  of  parliamen 
tary  misrule  so  strong,  my  blood  so  hot  with  the  cause  of 
this,  our  native  land,  that  I  'd  cheerfully  take  the  first  step 
in  high  treason  to  defeat  our  enemies — stake  my  head  upon 
the  game,  and  abide  by  the  result !" 

The  stranger  seemed  to  listen  to  these  words  with  stern 
delight,  and  his  eyes  burned  with  the  fires  of  internal  excite 
ment. 

He  advanced  two  steps,  and  enclosing  the  young  man's 
hand  in  a  grasp  of  iron,  said,  in  his  deep,  resounding  voice : 

"  I  offer  you  the  clasp  of  amity,  friend,  and  recognize  in 
you  a  brother  and  coworker !  I  see  in  your  eyes,  your  voice, 
the  expression  of  your  lips,  what  I  'd  trust  my  life  to  sooner 
than  distrust  it !" 

"You  may,"  replied  St.  John,  coldly;  "I  am  not  one  to 
hide  any  thing." 

"  I  see  that  plainly !"  said  the  stranger,  "  and  it  is  men 
like  yourself  that  we  want — bold  natures  and  strong  hands. 
Do  not  think  that  I  flatter  you,  sir — there  is  no  man  living 
I  will  flatter.  I  speak  simply  when  I  say  that  you  have 
interested  and  moved  me,  as  few  persons  have  moved  me 
for  years.  But  even  in  this  moment  of  full  sympathy,  let 
me  still  ask  if  these  views  are  deliberate,  and  not  the  re 
sult—" 

"  Of  private  feelings !"  said  St.  John,  mastered  in  spite  of 


148  HENEY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

himself  by  the  gloomy  earnestness  of  the  stranger ;  "  is  that 
your  meaning,  sir  ?" 

The  stranger  nodded. 

"  I  reply  that  a  private  feeling  toward  the  Governor  has 
had  some  weight  with  me,  but  my  opinions  were  formed 
before.  They  are  summed  up  in  this — that  Virginia  is 
being  crushed !  that  we,  free-born  men,  are  being  rapidly 
enslaved,  that  our  chains  are  being  forged,  and  my  remedy 
is  war!" 

The  stranger  listened  with  an  avidity  which  glowed  in  his 
eyes,  and  seemed  to  send  the  blood  more  rapidly  through 
his  veins. 

"  You  say  well,  sir,"  he  replied  in  a  voice  which  swelled 
and  grew  deeper  and  more  gloomy  as  he  spoke ;  "  you  have 
uttered  the  single  word  which  expresses  the  whole  truth  of 
the  times.  Yes,  we  free-born  Virginians  are  becoming  slaves 
— serfs !  the  serfs  of  a  mean  and  ignoble  Parliament  full 
of  representatives  from  rotten  boroughs,  and  advancing  to 
tread  upon  the  necks  of  these  provinces.  The  serfs  of  a 
Governor,  coarse,  treacherous  and  bloody,  whose  very  pres 
ence  on  our  soil  taints  it,  and  makes  it  tremble  with  disgust. 
You  have  nobly  spoken,  sir.  Your  voice  has  uttered  those 
noble  thoughts  which  tremble,  as  we  stand  here,  on  a  thou 
sand  tongues,  but  are  silenced  by  this  tyranny  beneath  which 
we  groan  ;  which  is  crushing  our  free  spirits  and  making  us 
those  most  miserable  creatures,  the  slaves  of  a  phantom — 
an  ideax!" 

As  the  stranger  spoke,  his  voice  grew  deeper  still  and  full 
of  menace ;  his  hands  moved,  and  seemed  to  tremble  with 
disdain. 

"  How  long  ?  how  long  ?"  he  said,  "  this  is  the  cry  of  the 
new  generation,  unfettered  by  the  past  or  the  present,  and 
looking  to  the  future.  This  new  generation  I  look  to  as 
my  stay  and  my  hope — I  who  live  in  and  draw  my  heart's 
blood  from  the  breath  of  revolution  !  The  word  startles 
the  old  generation — it  is  the  watch-word,  the  battle  cry  of 
the  new !  Look  at  my  face,  sir !  the  wrinkles  that  begin  to 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  149 

diverge  from  my  eyes — they  are  the  result  of  ten  years  of 
conflict,  of  ten  years,  in  which  I  have  toiled  and  nearly  worn 
myself  out  in  pushing  onward,  through  evil  report  and  good, 
through  darkness  and  gloom,  the  car  of  a  revolution  which 
shall  break  and  overturn,  and  crush  beneath  its  wheels  what 
oppresses  us !  I  speak  as  I  have  the  right  to  speak.  I  tell  of 
the  darkness  through  which  I  have  passed,  wherein  scarely 
a  star  shone  to  guide  me.  But  thanks  to  the  Supreme  Ruler 
of  the  destinies  of  humanity,  the  gloom  begins  at  last  to 
disappear,  the  day  of  liberty  to  dawn. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  continued  the  stranger,  his  lofty  stature  seem 
ing  to  increase  as  he  spoke,  "  the  day  begins  to  dawn  on  our 
western  world,  and  the  powers  of  the  night  to  be  dethroned. 
For  generations  it  has  lain  in  darkness,  and  the  horrible 
vultures  have  fed  upon  its  bowels,  tearing  out  its  vitals  and 
burying  obscene  talons  in  its  noble  heart.  But  that  heart 
is  not  cold — the  heart  of  Virginia  is  still  alive — it  throbs  and 
it  rises !  You  may  see  the  prostrate  form  begin  to  quiver ! 
see  the  shudder  which  runs  through  the  gigantic  frame !  it 
trembles  and  pants,  and,  like  Lazarus,  rises  from  its  grave ! 
like  Samson,  it  will  shiver  into  atoms  the  chains  which  fet 
ter  its  mighty  limbs !  When  that  body  rises  to  its  feet  from 
the  living  grave  in  which  a  horrible  and  murderous  tyranny 
has  engulfed  it,  the  solid  earth  will  shake  beneath  its  tread, 
and  the  waters  of  the  very  sea  will  boil.  Wo  then  to  the 
vultures  of  tyranny !  Wo  to  Dunmore,  to  Gage,  to  the  king 
on  his  throne,  in  that  hour !  The  atmosphere  is  even  now 
charged  with  hatred,  the  lightnings  of  years  of  oppression 
will  fall  on  our  tyrants  to  brand  and  paralyze  them,  with  the 
false  and  lying  hounds  they  have  let  loose  to  tear  us ! 

"  You  gaze  at  me  with  wonder,  sir,"  continued  the  stran 
ger,  "but  if  you  knew  what  I  have  passed  through,  you 
would  not  be  astonished.  I  who  speak,  sir,  as  I  feel  myself 
compelled  to  speak,  by  an  influence  I  can  not  resist — I  who 
speak  to  you,  have  no  thought,  no  existence,  no  heart,  but 
Virginia !  Whatever  strikes  her  strikes  me,  what  arrests 
the  life-blood  in  her  veins  paralyzes  mine ;  what  she  thrills 


150  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

and  trembles  with  sends  a  shudder  through  my  frame !  For 
ten  years  I  have  had  no  other  life — for  ten  years  I  have  been 
burnt  up  by  one  eternal  dominant  idea,  and  that  idea  is 
summed  up  in  the  word — Revolution !  For  this  I  have  toiled 
— to  unfetter  the  human  mind  has  been  my  mission.  If  I  am 
worn  out,  as  I  nearly  am,  what  matter  ?  If  I  brand  the  ty 
ranny  of  Parliament — if  I  help  to  tear  out  the  lying  tongues, 
and  overthrow  the  power  of  a  hateful  and  disgusting  op 
pression — if  I  even  advance  the  phalanx  one  step  toward 
our  enemies — then  I  shall  go  to  my  grave  with  joy,  for  my 
end  will  be  accomplished.  There  is  little  in  life  to  attract 
me,"  continued  the  speaker,  who  paused,  as  it  were,  and 
with  drooping  brows,  gazed  toward  the  ground,  "  for  at  the 
prime  of  manhood,  I  am  old — when  my  life  should  be  burst 
ing  into  flower,  I  am  alone." 

There  was  such  profound  and  gloomy  sadness  in  the  tones 
of  the  deep  voice,  that  St.  John  gazed  at  his  companion  with 
deep  sympathy. 

"  You  have  suffered,  sir  ?"  he  said. 

"  Deeply,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Along  time?" 

"For  a  decade— the  period  of  my  labor." 

St.  John  was  silent,  and  the  stranger  for  some  moments 
was  silent  too.  Then  he  raised  his  head,  and  two  tears  mois 
tened  his  fiery  eyes,  but  were  instantly  dashed  away. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  St.  John's  shoulder,  and  for  some 
moments  gazed  at  him  with  an  expression  at  once  so  piercing 
and  so  sorrowful  that  the  young  man  remembered  it  for  years. 

"It  is  strange,"  he  said,  "but  I  feel  an  irresistible  desire 
to  confide  in  you,  friend.  Can  I?  I  think  I  can." 

"  Any  thing  communicated  to  me  shall  be  locked  in  my 
bosom,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Your  word  is  then  given  that  what  I  say  shall  be  re 
peated  to  no  one  ?" 

"  To  no  one  upon  earth." 

"  Then  listen,  sir,"  said  she  stranger,  in  his  deep,  sorrow 
ful  voice,  "  listen  and  I  will  relate  to  you  the  history  of  a  life." 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  151 

CHAPTER  XXVL 

HOW  THE  STRANGER   BECAME  AN   HISTORIAN  AND  A  PROPHET. 

THE  stranger  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words,  when  a  daz 
zling  flash  of  lightning  darted  across  the  sky,  was  immedi 
ately  succeeded  by  a  roar  of  thunder,  like  the  discharge  of  a 
battery,  and  one  of  the  great  oaks,  upon  which  the  bolt  feh1, 
was  split  and  shivered,  from  the  top  to  the  bottom,  by  the 
fiery  stream. 

For  a  moment  the  eyes  of  the  two  men  were  dazzled  by 
the  terrible  spectacle,  and  they  gazed  at  the  torn  trunk, 
which,  encumbered  with  broken  boughs,  was  fitfully  seen 
by  successive  flashes,  or  chance  gleams. 

"  Do  you  see  this  tree  thus  shattered  by  lightning  ?"  said 
the  stranger ;  "  well,  that  is  the  type  of  a  man's  life — of  the 
life  which  speaks  to  you  now. 

"  Ten  years  ago,"  he  continued,  "  there  lived  in  Virginia 
a  warm-hearted,  ardent,  and  impressible  youth.  The  soul 
of  this  youth  throbbed  with  generous  emotions,  and  such 
was  his  frankness,  and  tenderness,  and  kindness,  that  he 
could  not  have  trodden  upon  a  worm  or  an  insect.  His 
dream  was  to  do  good,  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  hu 
manity,  to  unfetter  and  enlighten  his  brethren,  and  give 
them  liberty  of  thought,  self  respect,  and  happiness.  To 
this  end  all  his  studies  tended,  and  he  lived  in  a  dream,  as 
it  were,  of  love  and  philanthropy. 

"  Such  was  his  state  of  mind,  and  such  his  hope,  when  he 
met  with  a  woman — a  woman  of  rare  and  overpowering  love 
liness,  and  by  a  strange  accident,  this  woman,  or  rather  girl, 
was  proved  to  be  his  cousin.  Almost  the  first  moment  in 
which  he  saw  her  sealed  his  fate ;  from  that  instant  he  loved ; 
loved  deeply,  passionately,  absorbingly.  She  returned  his 
affection,  and  that  new  world  which  he  had  imagined — the 
world  of  beauty  and  truth — seemed  to  center  and  find  its 
realization  in  her  love  and  her  presence." 


152  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

The  stranger  paused  for  a  moment,  but  continued,  calmly, 

"  This  love  became  a  portion  of  his  life,  of  his  being,  of 
his  soul.  Before,  he  had  found  in  the  great  thoughts  of 
the  kings  of  literature,  sufficient  food  for  his  mind,  and  in 
their  grand  ideas  he  had  wrapped  himself  so  completely, 
that  he  lived,  as  it  were,  in  history,  and  asked  nothing  more. 
But  now  all  was  changed  ;  he  no  longer  dreamed  of  the  prog 
ress  and  enlightenment  of  man  ;  the  happiness  and  destiny 
of  mankind  was  no  longer  a  thought  to  him.  He  had  found 
something  grander  than  the  fate  of  the  world,  a  more  ab 
sorbing  passion  than  philanthropy ;  he  had  found  a  woman's 
heart  to  clasp  to  his  own,  a  heart  whose  beating  made  him 
careless  of  the  past  or  the  future,  so  that  future  were  spent 
in  her  presence,  by  her  side. 

"  I  said,"  continued  the  stranger,  "  that  this  woman  loved 
him.  O  yes,  she  loved  him  !  Rare  and  wonderful  decree 
of  a  Deity  of  love  and  goodness  !  the  imperishable  treasure 
of  this  woman's  heart  was  given  solely  to  himself.  To  speak 
of  her  is  idle,  words  fade  and  fail  me ;  't  is  enough  to  say  that 
she  was  such  as  he  had  never  seen  before,  and  will  never  see 
again — no  never !  Well,  well,  sir,  I  linger ;  let  me  go  on 
with  my  narrative.  The  man  and  the  woman  were  married  ; 
they  went  far  away  to  the  vast  solitudes,  and  there,  in  the 
presence  of  nature  and  the  Creator,  they  were  wholly,  com 
pletely,  blissfully  happy — happy  as  human  beings  can  seldom 
be,  and  never  for  long,  because  earth  would  then  be  like 
heaven." 

These  recollections  seemed  almost  to  unnerve  the  stranger, 
but  he  suppressed  his  emotion  and  continued, 

"  Well,  I  will  not  dwell  on  this  further.  Let  me  hurry 
on.  The  man  and  the  woman  lived  a  year  thus,  tranquil 
and  serene,  and  then  the  bolt  of  Heaven  fell.  God  saw  fit 
to  take  away  this  woman,"  said  the  stranger,  hoarsely,  "  to 
lead  back  the  man  to  his  neglected  work.  He  no  longer 
recognized  his  mission,  for  he  was  happy ;  he  had  forgotten 
his  duty.  The  Deity  decreed  that  he  should  come  away, 
and  the  means  which  he  used  were  the  fires  of  grief  and 


HENEY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  153 

anguish.  "Well,  sir,  all  this  came  about  as  was  decreed.  The 
blow  fell,  and  the  trunk  was  stripped  of  its  verdure  and  fresh 
ness — stripped  for  ever.  The  hard  heart  alone  remained,  and 
this  sufficed  for  the  work.  The  man  came  on  foot  one  day 
to  the  capital ;  he  was  dusty  and  worn  with  fatigue  ;  he  saw 
flame  and  breathed  agony  and  despair.  He  raised  his  head, 
and  was  accosted  by  a  former  companion,  who  harshly  up 
braided  him  for  his  inaction,  and  in  words  of  fire  laid  before 
him  his  future  work.  There  was  a  great  crowd  assembled, 
every  heart  throbbed  with  rage  and  defiance  toward  En 
gland  ;  before  he  knew  it,  he  was  speaking  to  them  by  the 
red  glare  of  the  burning  stamps,  and  from  that  moment  he 
comprehended  the  behest  of  Providence.  He  had  neglected 
his  mission  ;  he  was  led  back  and  thrust  into  the  ranks  to 
do  his  part. 

"  Well,  sir,  from  that  time  forth  he  became  what  he  is, 
what  you  see  him,  a  machine  of  iron,  with  but  one  eternal 
idea  burning  like  fire  in  his  soul.  His  work  was  to  aid  in 
unfettering  the  human  soul — when  that  is  accomplished  he 
will  disappear.  When  I  have  no  longer  any  work  to  do, 
when  my  aim  is  accomplished,  my  memory  will  kill  me. 
But  that  will  not  take  place ;  I  shall  fall  by  the  sword,  or 
the  cannon  ball,  or  bayonet — it  matters  not — and  the  day 
which  sees  me  stretched  cold  and  pale  upon  the  battle  field, 
will  be  the  happiest  of  my  life,  for  on  that  day  I  trust  to  re 
join  my  wife  !" 

The  stranger  paused,  and  wiped  his  forehead,  which  was 
steaming  with  cold  sweat.  By  an  immense  efibrt  he  sup 
pressed  the  shudder  which  ran  through  his  frame,  and  his 
features  subsided  gradually  into  iron  calmness. 

"  You  may  think  it  strange,  sir,"  he  said,  coldly,  to  the 
young  man,  who  had  listened  with  deep  sympathy  to  this 
narrative  ;  "  you  may  think  it  strange  that  I  have  thus  un 
rolled  the  history  of  my  life,  as  it  were,  to  a  person  whom  I 
do  not  know.  But  such  is  the  human  mind.  Philosophy  and 
self  control  are  mighty  bulwarks,  but  at  times  the  crushed 
heart  will  writhe  and  moan  beneath  the  iron  heel.  There 

7* 


154  HENEY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

are  moments  when  human  sympathy  is  necessary  even  to 
my  shattered  soul,  and  this  feeling  has  been  too  much  for 
me  to-day.  Perhaps  I  have  spoken  to  unsympathizing  ears, 
but  I  could  not  refrain,  sir — the  words  have  been  uttered." 

St.  John  said,  with  great  feeling, 

"  I  have  listened  with  respect,  sir,  and  sympathy,  and  do 
not,  I  pray  you,  believe  that  your  suffering  finds  an  indif 
ferent  listener  in  myself.  If 't  were  only  from  curiosity,  I 
must  have  heard  you  with  attention,  for  you  relate  a  strange 
and  moving  story  !  But  it  is  with  more  than  curiosity  that 
I  have  listened — with  sympathy  and  deference,  sir;  that 
deference  which  is  due  to  a  great  misfortune." 

"  Thanks,  friend,"  said  the  stranger,  more  calmly  even  than 
before ;  "  your  face  is  so  loyal  and  sincere  that  I  scarcely  re 
gret  my  indiscretion.  Well,  to  finish.  From  the  moment 
when  I  saw  what  my  work  was,  I  have  been  in  harness.  I 
have  aimed  further  than  protest  against  parliamentary  des 
potism,  I  have  aimed  at  perfect  independence  and — a  repub 
lic." 

"Ah!  a  republic?" 

"  Nothing  less,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  calmly.  "  For  ten 
years  nearly  I  have  been  stirring  up  this  colony  to  an  armed 
revolt — a  rebellion." 

St.  John  mused  with  drooping  head. 

"  I  see  that  you  question  the  possibility  of  this  movement 
now,"  said  the  stranger,  "  and  I  regret  that  my  time  will 
not  permit  me  to  expand  my  views  of  the  past.  See  one 
thing,  however.  As  you,  at  this  moment,  are  in  advance  of 
thousands  of  the  most  intelligent  and  patriotic  thinkers  up 
on  government,  as  you  would  meet  Parliament  in  arms,  and 
lash  the  tyrannical  Dunmore  from  Virginia,  so,  ten  years 
ago,  I  was  in  advance  of  yourself.  In  that  time  I  have 
watched,  with  attentive  eyes,  the  progress  of  thought,  the 
expansion  of  men's  minds.  They  approach  nearer  and  nearer 
to  me  every  hour.  I  do  not  boast,  sir,  for  God  gave  me  my 
eyes  and  my  soul,  pointed  out  my  work.  What  I  saw,  near 
a  dozen  years  since,  will  be  acted,  perhaps,  in  twelve  months 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,  GENTLEMAH.  155 

from  this  time.  The  stamps  were  burned  m  the  year  '65  ; 
that  was  the  firing  of  the  slow  match*  It  is  nearly  burnt 
out.  In  the  next  year,  the  year  '75,  it  will  reach  the  powder, 
and  the  mine  will  explode  with  a  crash  which  shall  bury  the 
throne,  in  America  at  least,  in  ruins,  from  which  nothing 
can  dig  it  forth." 

The  speaker's  eyes  glowed  as  he  spoke,  and  his  nervous 
hand  was  stretched  out  unconsciously. 

"  It  is  this  for  which  I  have  worked,"  he  continued,  in  his 
deep,  iron  tone,  "  and  how  I  have  worked,  I  will  tell  you, 
for  I  trust  you  implicitly.  From  Williamsburg,  the  center, 
I  have  disseminated  into  the  remotest  counties,  the  thoughts 
of  a  body  of  men,  whose  mouth-piece  I  am.  They  supply 
the  means,  I  give  them  my  life.  We  have  organized  com 
mittees  of  vigilance  in  a  hundred  places,  and,  traveling  day 
and  night,  I  have  thrown  myself  everywhere  in  contact  with 
the  heart  of  the  people,  feeling  its  pulsations,  and  endeavor 
ing  to  infuse  into  it  the  thoughts  of  my  own  mind,  and  the 
minds  of  my  associates.  I  have  means  given  me  for  private 
expresses,  and  many  days  before  the  Boston  Harbor  bill  was 
published  in  Williamsburg,  we  were  arousing  the  whole  prov 
ince  with  this  new  outrage.  Under  three  royal  governors, 
the  press  has  been  busy  within  a  step  of  their  doors,  and 
scattering  broadcast  what  it  is  treason  to  print.  Fauquier 
was  feasting  and  card-playing,  Botetourt  hoping  for  better 
times ;  they  did  not  arrest  it.  Dunmore  has  placed  all  his 
hounds  on  the  trail,  but  as  yet  they  have  not  caught  the 
game.  I  think  I  am  worth  a  good  sum  to  the  informer  who 
will  arrest  me,  and  furnish  the  proof  of  my  treason.  That  I 
am  a  traitor  to  the  government,  under  the  25th  Edward  III., 
there  is  not  the  least  doubt,  and  you  may  call  the  association 
the  League  of  Treason  with  perfect  propriety.  That  I 
know  to  whom  I  speak,  I  prove  to  you,  sir,  by  entering  into 
these  details.  For  ten  years  I  have  thus  been  the  instru 
ment  of  a  system,  and  of  an  organized  body.  Their  work 
is  to  arouse  the  mind  of  Virginia,  and  the  other  provinces, 
to  an  armed  rebellion.  We  have  hailed  every  new  blow 


156  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

struck  by  the  Parliament  with  profound  and  unfeigned  de 
light  ;  we  have  longed  and  yearned  for  the  final  and  de 
cisive  act ;  we  have  invited  the  stamp  of  the  heel  which 
shall  spur  into  madness  the  down-trodden  masses  ;  which 
shall  make  them  writhe  upward  and  sting !  The  Culpeper 
minute-men  will  take  for  their  motto  the  words,  '  Do  n't 
tread  on  me  !'  over  a  rattlesnake ;  the  association  which  I 
represent,  have  another  and  a  different  motto — '  Tread  on 
us  and  grind  us  !  outrage  us,  treat  us  as  slaves  !  insult  us, 
spit  on  us,  exhaust  our  whole  patience,  till  we  rouse  from 
our  apathy  and  sting  you  to  death  !'  Do  you  think  we  are 
blundering?  Do  you  mistake  our  design?  Do  you  imag 
ine  we  are  wrong  in  hailing  joyfully  this  new  'Port  Bill?' 
That  act  is  the  beginning  of  the  end !  Ten  years  ago,  I 
spoke  with  a  man  of  gigantic  mind,  one  of  those  fiery  souls 
breathing  but  in  revolution,  born  to  wield  the  thunderbolt 
of  oratory,  to  ride  on  and  direct  the  storm.  '  Let  us  strike !' 
were  his  words,  '  come !  a  revolution !'  I  replied,  '  You  are 
wrong— you  desire  to  strike  the  blow  before  we  have  arms 
in  our  hands  ;  let  us  enlighten  the  minds  of  the  people,  let 
us  arm  them,  let  us  train  them,  and  keep  silent  and  wait !' 
The  name  of  this  man  was  Patrick  Henry,  and  his  senti 
ments  were  shared  by  another  great  intellect,  Thomas  Jef 
ferson  by  name.  These  men,  then,  were  carried  away  by  the 
fires  of  genius,  they  advanced  too  rapidly ;  like  generals, 
they  rode  ahead  of  the  marching  legions,  who  alone  could 
win  the  battle.  There  were  others,  as  true  friends  of  liberty, 
who  erred  in  the  opposite  extreme.  They  were  sincerely  at 
tached  to  the  mother  country ;  they  closed  their  eyes  to  her 
faults,  as  an  affectionate  child  will  not  see  its  parent's  foibles ; 
they  venerated,  and  justly,  the  great  common  law,  the  bul 
wark  of  freedom  ;  they  were  deeply  attached  to  the  liturgy 
of  the  established  Church ;  they  feared  innovation,  they  feared 
that  the  masses,  once  wholly  unfettered,  would  rush  into  li 
cense  and  madness.  They  doubted,  and  advocated  protests 
and  petitions,  from  a  sincere  love  of  country  and  the  species. 
The  names  of  these  patriots  were  Edmund  Pendleton,  Rich- 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  157 

ard  Bland,  and  others.  They  were  borne  onward  by  Henry 
and  Jefferson,  but  they,  in  their  turn,  held  these  great  lead 
ers  back.  Thus  the  phalanx  marched  slowly,  evenly,  and 
in  order,  with  gradual,  but  certain  progression.  Had  we 
sounded  the  battle  cry  in  the  year  '65,  the  rising  would  have 
been  a  revolt,  now  it  will  be  a  revolution  !  The  result  then 
would  have  been  defeat,  and  more  grinding  slavery  ;  the  re 
sult  now  will  be  victory  and  freedom !  Do  you  doubt  it, 
friend  ?  Listen  to  my  prediction  !  As  we  speak,  the  House 
of  Burgesses  are  slowly  advancing  to  a  point  which  will 
compel  them  to  act  strongly  or  be  slaves.  They  will  act  as 
they  should,  for  that  body  is  composed  of  the  flower  of  this 
mighty  colony,  and  the  eyes  of  America  are  fixed  anxiously 
upon  them.  The  whole  continent  looks  to  Virginia  to  sound 
the  war-cry,  and  she  will  sound  it !  She  will  first  draw  the 
sword,  and  throw  the  scabbard  away.  The  result  of  the 
action  of  the  Burgesses  will  be  this  :  the  Governor  will  dis 
solve  them  ;  they  will  dissolve  and  reassemble  in  Williams- 
burg,  or  in  this  building,  and  then  the  full  crisis  of  the 
storm  will  come.  The  appeal  to  arms  is  inevitable,  and  the 
die  will  be  cast.  The  struggle,  breast  to  breast,  will  com 
mence  in  Virginia,  the  great  heart  of  the  South,  or  Massa 
chusetts,  that  other  noble  heart  of  the  North.  Then  see  the 
result !  see  the  fiat  of  that  God  who  presides  over  nations, 
and  the  doings  of  his  creatures !  In  this  man,  Patrick 
Henry,  the  revolution  speaks — he  is  its  tongue.  In  Jeffer 
son,  and  the  rest,  it  vindicates  itself  to  the  public  opinion 
of  Europe — they  are  its  pen.  In  some  one  not  raised  up 
yet,  it  will  find  its  soul  and  its  sword.  Do  you  say,  that  is 
the  question,  that  this  is  the  point  of  doubt  ?  Friend,"  said 
the  stranger,  with  glowing  eyes,  and  a  gloomy  earnest 
ness,  which  seemed  to  thrill  through  his  frame,  "  let  us  trust 
in  God  !  let  not  the  atom  distrust  the  Sovereign  of  the  Uni 
verse  !  That  great  Being  has  kindled  the  first  fires  of  rev 
olution  ;  he  has  raised  up,  successively,  the  prophet  and  the 
scribe;  be  has  consolidated  the  phalanx,  and  he  will  not 
leave  his  work  incomplete.  Do  you  question  your  memory 


158  HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

for  some  name,  for  some  leader  who  shall  lead  the  onset  ? 
There  are  many,  and  were  it  not  for  fear  of  presumption,  I 
might  hazard  an  opinion  whom  this  leader  will  be.  He 
will  be  led,  as  a  child,  by  the  hand  of  the  Almighty,  when 
the  time  shall  come,  and  that  time  is  approaching ;  let  us 
wait ! 

"  This  then,"  said  the  stranger,  raising  his  lofty  head  and 
gazing  out  upon  the  storm  which  was  rolling  off  to  the 
south,  "  this  then  is  the  point  which  we  have  reached.  The 
legions  are  armed,  the  ranks  are  arranged,  the  leaders  await 
but  the  trumpet  of  the  enemy  to  charge  !  It  is  this  I  have 
toiled  for,  wearing  myself  out,  and  exhausting  my  life  ;  but 
I  would  give  to  the  cause  a  million  lives  did  I  possess  them. 
My  name  may  not  be  uttered  by  a  single  voice,  the  form 
which  enclosed  my  spirit  may  moulder  without  an  epitaph 
even,  but  that  is  of  small  import.  I  have  done  faithfully  my 
duty,  I  have  performed  my  work,  I  have  gone  on  my  way, 
and  I  shall  not  die  until  I  see  the  New  World  inaugurated. 
See !  the  thunder-storm  is  over,  and  the  sky  is  growing 
clear — so  will  it  be  with  us  in  our  struggle !  The  darkness 
and  the  gloom  in  which  we  are  enveloped  will  be  dissipated 
— the  old  things  shall  pass  away,  and  behold  all  things  shall 
become  new !  See  the  sun  yonder ;  see  the  glorious  and 
resplendent  orb  chasing  the  gloom,  rising  in  serene  majesty 
above  the  mists  and  the  clouds,  and  mounting  to  its  merid 
ian  of  splendor  and  glory.  It  is  the  sun  of  America !  The 
light  of  the  world !  It  was  hidden  by  the  darkness,  but  is 
risen.  It  is  risen !  Oh  marvelous  spectacle !  It  is  risen ! 
Oh  noble  and  consoling  thought !  It  is  risen !  and  the  power 
of  a  million  emperors  can  never  obscure  one  ray  of  it,  for 
the  hand  of  the  Almighty  has  rolled  it  on  its  glorious  way, 
the  hope  and  the  pole  star  of  nations !" 

With  eyes  fixed  almost  with  ecstacy  upon  the  great  orb, 
the  stranger  ceased  speaking,  and  seemed  almost  to  forget 
the  presence  of  his  companion.  He  remained  motionless 
and  silent. 

This  silence  was  unbroken  by  St.  John,  who,  carried  away 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  159 

in  spite  of  himself  by  the  words  to  which  he  had  listened, 
pondered  the  thoughts  of  his  companion,  and  sent  his  mind, 
so  to  speak,  through  that  future  which  had  thus  been  un 
rolled  before  his  eyes. 

He  was  aroused  by  the  voice  of  the  stranger,  whose  mo 
mentary  excitement  had  yielded  to  his  habitual  expression 
of  iron  calmness. 

"I  see  that  the  storm  is  over,"  he  said,  "and  now,  sir,  I 
must  go  on  my  wa'y,  for  what  purpose  you  know,  for  I  have 
spoken  without  reserve.  I  do  not  regret  having  thus  ut 
tered  my  thoughts,  and  related  my  sorrowful  story.  I  have 
accustomed  myself  to  read  human  character  in  the  counte 
nance,  and  were  you  my  bitterest  enemy  I  would  sleep  at 
your  side,  though  you  were  awake  with  a  dagger  in  your 
hand !  I  speak  my  honest  conviction  alone,  friend,  and  I  go 
without  a  fear  that  I  have  committed  an  imprudence.  I  feel 
that  we  shall  meet  again." 

Having  thus  spoken  in  a  tone  of  noble  courtesy,  the 
stranger  bowed  to  St.  John,  and  issuing  forth,  mounted  his 
horse,  which  was  tied  near,  and  disappeared  on  the  road  to 
the  northward. 

St.  John,  too,  mounted,  and  overwhelmed  with  new 
thought,  took  his  way  toward  Williamsburg,  as  the  last 
mutterings  of  the  storm  died  away  in  the  distance. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

HOW    ST.   JOHN    MET  A  FRIEND   IN   WILLTAMSBURG. 

ONCE  more  in  Williamsburg !  It  was  with  new  emotions 
that  the  young  man  gazed  upon  the  scene  so  familiar  to  him, 
and  he  scarcely  realized  that  he  could  be  the  same  person 
who  had  left  it,  carelessly,  so  short  a  time  since. 

In  that  time  his  mind  appeared  to  have  altered  its  whole 


160  HENRY  ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

character — to  have  been  flooded  with  emotions  and  im 
pulses,  new,  strange  and  undreamed  of. 

He  had  listened  to  the  voice  of  a  singular  and  mysterious 
personage,  he  had  felt  his  face  flush  with  fire  as  he  heard 
those  blazing  accents ;  a  new  world  had  opened  to  him 
amid  the  crash  and  roar  of  that  storm — a  fuller  life,  in 
the  old  church  there,  among  the  memorials  of  dead  gen 
erations. 

But  a  world  more  novel  and  attractive  had  expanded  itself 
in  another  direction  before  his  enamored  eye — a  world  all  sun 
light,  and  verdure,  and  perfume,  where  the  uplands  and  the 
fields,  lit  by  suns  and  moons  of  surpassing  glory,  lay  sleep 
ing  in  the  dews  of  a  serener  heaven.  A  world  which  he 
entered  with  smiles  and  sighs  to  the  music  of  a  million  sing 
ing  birds  in  the  foliage,  and  myriads  of  streams,  that  danced 
over  diamonds  and  pearls.  That  music  and  melody  resound 
ed  in  his  ears  like  the  dreamy  music  of  the  Eolian  harp,  and 
a  celestial  harmony  seemed  to  pervade,  like  a  mysterious  un 
dertone,  the  sound  of  the  singing-birds  and  the  flowing 
water — the  voice  of  a  "simple  girl." 

The  town,  thus,  seemed  to  rise  on  the  young  man's  sight 
for  the  first  time,  and  as  he  passed  along  the  streets  slowly, 
and  with  smiles,  he  looked  up  at  the  houses,  and  wondered 
that  he  had  never  before  observed  how  picturesque  they 
were,  relieved  against  the  foliage,  and  running  in  long,  pret 
ty  rows  with  the  white-sanded  street. 

"Was  this  the  place  he  had  hated  so  ?  Could  this  be  the 
"  odious  town"  he  had  maligned  so  ?  Why  it  was  a  fairy 
village  in  a  lovely  land,  and  the  children  who  tripped  along 
the  street  with  little  glancing  feet  and  rippling  curls,  were 
the  sweetest  forms  that  the  eye  could  possibly  behold. 

So  true  is  it  that  the  view  we  take  of  life  depends  on  the 
eyes  which  we  regard  it  with.  Some  lips  will  sneer,  and 
others  laugh ;  to  the  melancholy,  the  jaundiced  the  un 
happy,  the  fairest  and  most  brilliant  May  day  lowers  with 
clouds  ;  to  the  happy,  the  buoyant,  the  rejoiceful  vision  of 
the  lover,  the  gloomiest  December  is  a  flowery  spring.  « 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  161 

The  young  man's  whole  nature  was  changed,  and  he  even 
thought  of  Lord  Dunmore,  as  he  glanced  toward  the  palace, 
with  indifference  and  unconcern. 

He  went  toward  the  old  Raleigh  tavern,  whose  long  row 
of  dormer  windows  sparkled  in  the  May  sunlight,  and  when 
the  smiling  ostler  took  his  horse,  the  young  man  rewarded 
his  cheerful  face  with  a  pistole. 

With  head  erect,  lips  smiling,  and  eyes  full  of  light,  Mr. 
St.  John  then  went  toward  the  front  of  the  building,  and 
here  he  was  quickly  accosted  by  a  laughing  and  hearty 
voice,  which  uttered  the  words : 

"  Why  morbleu !  my  dear  fellow,  you  look  h'ke  a  con 
queror.  Give  you  greeting !" 

The  speaker  was  a  man  of  thirty-eight  or  forty,  of  tall 
stature,  of  vigorous  frame,  and  that  erect  and  martial  bear 
ing  which  indicates  the  profession  of  arms  at  some  portion 
of  the  owner's  life.  The  worthy  wore  a  rich  suit  of  dark 
cloth,  profusely  embroidered,  a  Flanders  hat  with  a  black 
feather  bound  around  it,  and  a  pair  of  large  spurs  glittered 
upon  the  heels  of  his  horseman's  boots,  against  which  a 
long  sword,  buckled  by  an  old  leather  belt,  incessantly  rat 
tled. 

The  face  was  decidedly  a  pleasant  one,  the  forehead  broad 
and  skirted  by  short,  dark  hair ;  a  heavy  mustache  as  black 
as  midnight  fringed  the  firm  lips,  and  the  brilliant  eyes 
sparkled  and  shone  with  a  laughing  good  humor.  The  face 
of  the  stranger  seemed  that  of  a  soldier,  a  bon  camarado  of 
a  thousand  adventures  and  vicissitudes,  and  the  heavy  mus 
tache  which  was  curled  toward  the  eyes  seemed  to  be  eter 
nally  agitated  by  merriment. 

"  Good  morrow,  my  dear  captain,"  said  St.  John,  shak 
ing  hands,  "  how  are  Madame  Waters  and  the  little  stream 
lets,  and  what  brings  you  to  Williamsburg  ?" 

"Basta!"  cried  the  captain,  "there's  a  flood  of  ques 
tions,  and  I  content  myself  with  replying  to  the  first — 
that  the  various  inhabitants  of  Flodden  are  well  and  jolies. 
Wliere  have  you  been  ?" 


162  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

"  Everywhere — another  comprehensive  answer." 

"Ah!  you  smile!"  cried  the  captain,  curling  his  huge 
mustache;  "the  fact  is,  mon  ami,  your  face  seems  made  for 
smiling,  you  do  it  so  well." 

"  Because  I  am  in  good  spirits." 

"  Is  not  everybody  ?" 

"I  was  not  the  other  day." 

The  captain  shook  his  head.     / 

"  That 's  unphilosophical,"  he  said,  sagely ;  "  keep  up  the 
spirits." 

"  I  can  't  always." 

"Wh'y?" 

"They  are  tried." 

"  And  this  other  day  ?" 

"  They  were  tried  by  his  Excellency,  Lord  Dunmore." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  by  his  Excellency  you  say !  Morbleu!  he  's  a 
bucket  of  cold  water  in  truth,  I  understand !" 

"  He  acted  like  a  shower-bath  for  me." 

"But  you  seem  to  have  had  the  glow  of  reaction!"  said 
the  captain,  laughing,  "  and  I  do  n't  wonder  at  it.  As  I  tell 
my  friend,  the  Seigneur  Mort-Reynard  Hamilton,  when  he 
growls  sometimes,  and  abuses  even  my  claret,  the  wretch ! 
as  I  tell  him,  there  's  nothing  like  sunshine  and  May!  Venire 
sainte  Gris !  what  a  day !  'Tis  enough  to  make  a  fellow 
swear  from  pure  excess  of  spirits !" 

"  Swear  away  then,"  said  St.  John,  laughing,  "  and  draw 
on  your  assortment  of  French  oaths." 

"  French  !  I  never  swear  in  French,  mon  ami,  I  heartily 
despise  the  Franqais,  morbleu !  they're  a  nation  of  frog 
eaters !" 

"  You  do  n't  like  them  ?"  asked  St.  John,  laughing  ;  "  I 
can  understand  then  that  you  never  utter  a  single  lmor- 
~bleu!  " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  captain,  "  perhaps  now  and  then  an 
oath  of  this  description  accidentally  escapes  me,  but  prepend, 
mon  ami,  I  detest  the  Gauls,  though  they  're  brave  as  steel. 
You  see  I  fought  them  for  a  number  of  years  like  an  insense 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  163 

at  Gratz,  at  Lissa,  at  Minden  and  elsewhere,  and  I  assure 
you  they  were  a  devil  of  a  set.  I  tell  you,  comrade,  if  you 
give  a  mounseer  his  champagne  and  his  gloire — and  add  a 
few  chansons  and  the  eyes  of  a  young  woman — if  the 
Frenchman  has  these  he  will  cheerfully  march  into  a  trench 
and  be  shoveled  in  the  same  trench  with  pleasure.  At  Min 
den — but  here  I  am  running  into  a  story  as  usual.  Basta ! 
a  miserable  world  where  a  fellow  must  be  ever  fighting  his 
battles  over  again !" 

And  the  captain  closed  his  lips  as  though  nothing  could  in 
duce  him  to  continue. 

"There  is  some  apology  for  my  thinking  of  Minden,  com 
rade,"  he  said,  "  as  the  newly-arrived  private  secretary  of 
his  Excellency  was  there." 

"  Who— Captain  Foy  ?" 

"Thesame1." 

"At  Minden?" 

"  And  fought  like  a  Trojan.  A  keen  fellow,  that  Foy ; 
looks  a  long  way  ahead,  and 's  as  sharp  as  a  razor,  mor- 
lleu!" 

St.  John's  eyes  were  directed  down  the  street. 

"  What  attracts  your  attention,  comrade  ?"  said  the  sol 
dier. 

"  The  individual  who 's  as  sharp  as  a  razor,"  said  St.  John, 
laughing ;  "  I  hope  he  won't  cut  us." 

"  Who  ?  why  it 's  Foy  hi  person." 

"  And  coming  straight  toward  us." 

"J£h  Men  !  we  '11  give  our  brother  soldier  a  military  sa 
lute,"  said  the  captain,  laughing,  and  placing  his  left  hand 
on  the  hilt  of  his  sword ;  "  let 's  see  if  he  recognizes  his 
'  compagnon  cP  armes  /' " 


164  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE      SECRET      AGENT. 

As  the  soldier  uttered  these  words,  Captain  Foy,  private 
secretary,  confidential  adviser,  and  general  secret  agent  of 
his  Excellency,  Lord  Dunmore,  approached  the  spot  where 
he  stood  with  St.  John. 

Captain  Foy  was  a  gentleman  of  middle  age,  of  tall  stat 
ure,  with  a  pale,  cold  countenance,  piercing  eyes  beneath 
shaggy  brows,  and  a  certain  mixture  of  boldness  and  stealth- 
iness  in  his  carriage,  which  brought  to  the  mind  the  idea  of 
an  animal  of  the  tiger  species — at  once  soft  and  cruel,  calm 
and  ferocious. 

There  was  about  the  man  an  air  of  mystery  and  reserve 
which  could  not  be  mistaken,  and  forcibly  impressed  upon 
the  beholder  the  opinion  that  he  was  habitually  employed 
in  what  was  then  known  as  "  secret  service."  The  secretary 
was  richly  clad,  but  wore  no  sword,  not  even  a  parade 
weapon,  and  as  he  approached,  Mr.  St.  John  felt  as  if  a 
portion  of  Lord  Dunmore  himself  were  walking  toward 
him. 

"  Why  my  dear  Foy,"  said  Captain  "Waters,  making  a 
military  salute  as  the  secretary  came  opposite  to  him,  "  real 
ly  delighted  to  see  you !  You  have  n't  forgotten  an  old 
comrade,  eh  ?" 

The  secretary's  calm,  piercing  eye,  dwelt  for  an  instant 
upon  the  soldier's  face,  and  he  replied  at  once,  with  a  bow, 

"  By  no  means,  Captain  Waters.  I  am  pleased  to  meet 
with  you,  and  with  you,  Mr.  St.  John." 

"  The  same  to  you  my  boy,"  replied  the  captain,  with  great 
good  humor ;  "  I  reply  for  both  of  us.  You  're  looking 
rather  thin  and  pale,  which  is  probably  owing  to  your  con 
finement  in  your  abominably  disagreeable  office  of  secretary, 
and  I  find  you  no  longer  the  jolly  companion  you  were  on 
the  continent ;  but  I  'm  delighted  to  see  you." 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  165 

"I  reciprocate  your  obliging  sentiments,  Captain,"  said 
Foy,  in  the  same  serene  tone. 

"  Tou  really,  then,  have  not  forgotten  me  ?" 

"  By  no  means  !  I  think  that  is  proved  by  saluting  you 
at  once,  though  I  had  no  expectation  of  seeing  you." 

"Why  certainly,"  cried  the  captain.  "Morbleu!  that 
never  occurred  to  me.  The  fact  is,  my  dear  comrade,  I  am 
deteriorating,  I  'm  getting  fat  and  stupid  for  want  of  fight 
ing.  Tonnerre  /  if  I  only  had  Minden  for  an  hour !  I  'd  get 
well  again,  or  the  devil 's  in  it !" 

"  A  terrible  fight,  Captain  "Waters." 

"  Perfectly  glorious !" 

"  We  were  near  each  other  frequently,  I  remember." 

"Morbleu!  that's  a  great  compliment!"  cried  the  sol 
dier. 

"  A  compliment,  sir  ?" 

"  To  myself,  faith !" 

The  secretary  bowed  serenely. 

"  No  simpers  and  disclaimers,  comrade  !"  said  the  soldier ; 
"  may  the  devil  eat  me  whole,  if  you  did  n't  fight  like  a  wild 
boar.  At  present,  companion,  permit  me  to  say  that  your 
countenance  resembles  that  of  a  clergyman  ;  on  the  day  of 
Minden,  it  resembled  that  of  Mars,  parbleu  !  A  devil  of  a 
fight,  friend  !  and  you  did  your  part  like  a  firebrand !" 

As  the  captain  spoke  thus  in  his  rough,  laughing  voice,  a 
slight  color  seemed  to  tinge,  for  a  moment,  the  pale  cheek 
of  the  soldier-secretary,  and  his  eyes  wandered.  He  re 
covered  instantly,  however,  his  presence  of  mind,  and  with 
a  movement  of  his  hand,  said, 

"  I  fear  you  are  too  complimentary,  sir ;  I  did  but  my 
small  part !" 

"  Morbleu  !  't  was  a  large  part,  companion.  I  '11  say  that 
everywhere,  and  do  you  full  justice,  if  you  are  the  secretary 
of  my  Lord  Dun  more,  whom  I  've  not  yet  fallen  very  much 
in  love  with.  In  fact,  I  dislike  that  worthy  nobleman  to  an 
extent  really  wonderful,  but  I  do  n't  commit  injustice.  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  informing  you,  my  dear  St.  John,  that 


166  HENKY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

Captain,  or  Secretary  Foy,  went  through  the  ranks  of  the 
French  at  Minden  like  a  flaming  sword,  and  that  he  was 
publicly  complimented  by  his  commanding  officer,  on  full 
parade,  afterwards." 

Foy  made  a  modest  movement  with  his  hand. 

"  You  forget  after  Lissa,  Captain  Waters,"  he  said,  "  and 
for  fear  you  will  not  mention  it,  I  will  inform  Mr.  St.  John 
that  you  were  publicly  thanked  also,  sir." 

"  Why  so  I  was  !"  cried  the  captain.     "  I  'd  forgotten  it !" 

"  I  have  not,  sir,  as  I  shall  not  forget  the  flash  of  your 
sword  in  the  charge." 

"  See  now !"  said  the  captain,  laughing,  "  how  pleasant 
this  is." 

"  Pleasant  ?" 

"  Yes,  recalling,  morbleu  !  all  these  tender  recollections ! 
There  is  one,  however,  my  dear  Foy,  which  affects  me  even 
still  more  deeply." 

"  What  »s  that,  captain  ?» 

"  The  little  scene  at  Keinfels !» 

And  the  captain  burst  into  laughter. 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  touched  the  secretai-y's  pale  face. 

"Basta !"  cried  the  captain.     "  I  see  you  remember  !" 

"  Perfectly,  sir,"  replied  the  secretary,  serenely. 

"  Under  the  bastion  !" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  A  little  duel,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  captain  to  St. 
John,  by  way  of  explanation  ;  "  a  little  bout  between  Foy 
and  myself.  I  regret  to  say  that  our  present  dear  spiritual 
adviser,  as  I  regard  him,  and  myself,  fell  out  about  a — " 

"  Ah,  Captain  Waters !  why  recall  these  follies  ?" 

"Why  not  ?     They  were  but  youthful  pranks." 

"  That  is  all,  sir." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  't  was  a  girl  that  we  quarreled 
for.  We  fought  the  next  morning,  and  faith !  both  of  us 
were  a  month  in  the  hospital !" 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  the  secretary,  "  that  is  true — just 
a  month !" 


HENKY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  167 

"  And  you  remember,  my  dear  comrade — ?" 

"What,  Captain  Waters?" 

"  We  were  lying  in  cots,  next  to  each  other." 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

"And  I  made  you  explain,  with  the  arm  I  had  slashed, 
the  coup  which  broke  my  guard,  and  ran  me  very  nearly 
through  the  gizzard.  Morbleu !  't  was  admirable,  and  I 
adored  you  after  that  blow  !" 

With  which  the  captain  laughed. 

"  See  how  pleasant 't  is,  recalling  these  scenes  of  the  past," 
he  said.  "  Hilf  himmel !  is  there  any  thing  like  it  ?  Here 
I'm  getting  fat  and  vegetating,  and  becoming  a  country 
squire,  thinking  only  of  tobacco  and  wheat,  and  with  not  a 
care  in  the  world,  when,  formerly,  in  the  good  old  times,  I 
was  lean  and  full  of  muscle,  with  a  wrist  of  bone  and  sinew, 
not  a  sous  in  my  pocket,  and  half  the  time  not  knowing 
where  to  lay  my  head  !  Bah !  it 's  really  deplorable — is  it 
not  comrade  ?" 

"  I  think  it  more  agreeable,  sir." 

"  More  agreeable  !  You  do  n't  really  ?  But  I  can 't 
wonder  at  your  mistake — you  've  not  tried  it." 

"  I  am,  like  yourself,  no  longer  a  soldier." 

"  Why  so  you  are  not." 

"I  am  a  civilian." 

"  And  a  secretary.  My  dear  comrade,"  said  the  captain, 
sighing,  "we  have  both  deteriorated.  I  foresee  that  we 
shall  have  no  more  amusement,  no  life,  no  frolics  !  For  the 
future  we  must  resign  ourselves  to  fate.  No  more  Mindens, 
no  Lissas,  no  glorious  assaults  like  that  of  Breslau,  where  I 
think  the  devil  got  loose ;  no  battles  or  skirmishes  any  more ! 
In  the  bitterness  of  my  regret,  comrade,  I  could  propose  a 
bout  here  in  the  street,  that  I  might  thus  be  taken  back 
to  old  times  and  learn  the  coup  of  Reinfels !  I  despair  of 
any  amusement  in  the  future,  comrade,  unless — but  that  is 
idle." 

"  Unless,  captain  ?" 

"  Unless  Dunmore  will  afford  it." 


168  HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

The  secretary  retired  into  himself  suddenly,  all  thoughts 
of  the  past  seemed  to  disappear,  and  his  pale  face  became 
impenetrable. 

"  That  reminds  me,  Captain  Waters,"  he  said,  with  formal 
courtesy,  "  that  my  duties  recall  me  to  his  lordship's  pres 
ence — I  have  already  tarried  too  long.  I  have  the  honor  to 
salute  you,  gentlemen." 

And  the  secretary  bowed,  and  then  moved  toward  the 
palace. 

"  I  say,  my  dear  Foy !"  called  the  captain. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  secretary,  half  turning. 

"  Give  my  compliments  to  his  Excellency,  and  tell  him  I 
am  thirsting  for  something  to  do.  If  he  '11  only  endeavor 
now  to  turn  the  Burgesses  out  of  doors  and  give  me  an  op 
portunity  of  meeing  you,  sword  in  hand,  and  learning  the 
coup — of  Reinfels,  you  know  !" 

A  strange  smile  flitted  over  the  subtle  face  of  the  secre 
tary,  but  he  only  bowed. 

In  a  moment  he  disappeared  at  the  corner  of  the  street 
which  led  to  the  palace. 

Captain  Ralph  Waters  looked  after  him  for  a  moment  in 
silence,  and  then  moving  his  head  up  and  down,  said  to  St. 
John, 

"  My  dear  companion,  there  goes  one  of  the  most  dan 
gerous  fellows  under  heaven !  As  close  as  a  trap,  as 
brave  as  steel,  and  as  cunning  as  the  devil.  Take  care  of 
him !" 

.   "Thanks  for   your  warning,"  said  St.  John,  laughing, 
"but  I  'm  not  afraid." 

"  Well,  I  do  n't  feel  so  myself.  In  case  of  trying  the  coup 
of  Reinfels,  I  count  on  you." 

"The  coup?" 

"In  a  duel  with  Foy,  I  mean." 

"  Certainly ;  and  if  ever  I  'm  in  want  of  a  second,  you  '11 
act  for  me  ?" 

" Morbleu!  with  delight,  my  dear  comrade!" 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  16!) 

"  It  's  a  bargain  ?" 

"  Signed  and  sealed." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  may  call  on  you." 

And  the  friends  parted,  going  each  a  different  way. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

HOW    A    VIRGINIA     GIRL    WKOTE     VERSES    IN  '74. 

ST.  JOHN  was  going  along  in  a  reverie,  with  his  head 
hanging  down,  his  hands  idle  at  his  side,  his  steps  wander 
ing  and  uncertain,  as  the  steps  of  drunkards  and  lovers,  those 
true  brethren,  are  so  apt  to  be,  when  suddenly  he  found 
himself  arrested ;  a  gross  material  obstacle  encountered 
him,  his  hat  was  thrust  forcibly  quite  over  his  eyes,  and  he 
waked  up,  so  to  speak,  from  his  dream. 

The  first  object  which  attracted  his  attention  was  a  slight 
gentleman,  clad  in  a  suit  of  dark  drab  cloth,  and  carrying 
under  his  arm  a  bundle  of  papers,  which  gentleman,  with  a 
profusion  of  smiles  and  numerous  deprecating  waves  of  the 
hand,  uttered  a  flood  of  apologies,  accompanied  by  courte 
ous  bows. 

"  I  beg  you  '11  not  trouble  yourself  about  such  a  trifle, 
Mr.  Purdie,"  said  St.  John,  shaking  hands  with  the  editor 
of  the  old  "  Virginia  Gazette,"  "  't  was  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world." 

"  Very  awkward  in  me !  really  now,  excessively  awkward, 
Mr.  St.  John !» 

"  'T  was  my  own  fault." 

"  Pardon  me,"  returned  Mr.  Purdie,  with  courteous  per 
sistence,  "I  was  really  to  blame!  But  this  copy  of  verses 
absorbed  me." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear  friend,  have  it  as  you  will ;  but  pray 
let  me  have  a  sight  of  the  copy  of  verses  which  interested 
you  so." 

8 


170  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

"  Willingly,  my  dear  sir." 

And  Mr.  Purdie  handed  a  letter  to  Mr.  St.  John.  As  his 
eyes  fell  upon  the  hand-writing,  a  slight  color  came  to  the 
young  man's  cheek,  and  he  smiled.  Mr.  Purdie  wondered 
at  the  sparkling  eyes  and  deep  interest  betrayed  by  the 
young  man  as  he  read  the  verses ;  but  we  shall  soon  under 
stand  the  reason. 

The  letter  and  poem  were  word  for  word  as  follows.  We 
have  even  retained  the  spelling  and  capital  letters  customary 
at  the  period  in  written  composition. 

"  To  the  Printer  of  the  Virginia  Gazette. 

"  SIK  : — The  accompanying  verses  are  sent  to  you  by  a 
Country  Girl,  who  hopes  they  will  meet  your  Approval. 
Your  Correspondent  withholds  her  Name  from  Fear  of  the 
Criticks,  whom  she  truly  detests.  They  're  an  odious  Set ! 
are  they  not,  Mr.  Purdie  ?  A  Portion  of  the  Effusion  may 
make  you  laugh,  Sir.  I  offer  you  a  Salute  to  bribe  you  in 
Favour  of  my  Verses  ;  but  observe,  Sir !  't  is  only  when  you 
find  me  out !  That  I  'm  resolved  you  shall  never  do.  All 
I  shall  say  is,  that  I  've  the  Honour  to  be  humble  Cousin  to  a 
very  high  Military  Functionary  of  this  Colony,  who  honours 
me  with  bis  Esteem !  Now  do  print  my  effusion,  dear,  good 
Mr.  Purdie.  I  like  you  so  much  because  you  are  a  true 
Friend  to  the  Cause  of  Liberty.  We  've  sealed  up  all  our 
Tea,  and  I  'd  walk  with  bare  Feet  on  hot  Ploughshares  be 
fore  I  'd  drink  a  drop  of  the  odious  Stuff! 

"  I  am  Mr.  Purdie's  friend, 


"  Permit  a  giddy,  trifling,  Girl, 

For  once  to  fill  your  Poet's  Corner, 
She  cares  not  though  the  Criticks  snarl, 

Or  Beaus  and  Macaronies  scorn  her ; 
She  longs  in  Print  her  Lines  to  see, 

Oblige  her,  (sure  you  can 't  refuse  it,) 
And  if  you  find  her  out,  your  Fee 

Shall  be — to  kiss  her — if  you  choose  it. 


HENBY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLKM AN. 

Perhaps  you  '11  think  the  Fee  too  small — 

You  would  not  think  so  if  you  knew  her  I 
For  she  has  Charms  confessed  by  all 

Who  have  the  Happiness  to  view  her. 
The  Favour  that  to  you  she  proffers 

Has  been  solicited  in  vain, 
And  many  flattering,  splendid  Offers 

Eejected  with  a  cold  Disdain. 
She  scorns  the  Man  however  pretty, 

However  Riches  round  him  flow, 
However  wise,  or  great,  or  witty, 

That 's  to  his  Country's  Rights  a  Foe. 
He  that  to  flatter  Folks  in  Power, 

His  Country's  Freedom  would  betray, 
Deserves  the  Gallows  every  Hour, 

Or  worse — to  feel  a  Tyrant's  Sway ! 
May  such  alone  be  unprotected 

By  Justice  and  by  Nature's  Laws, 
And  to  Despotic  Powers  subjected, 

Suffer  the  Miseries  they  cause. 
To  scorn  them  is  each  Female's  Duty  ; 

Let  them  no  Children  have,  or  "Wife, 
May  they  ne'er  meet  the  Smiles  of  Beauty, 

Nor  any  social  Joys  of  Life  1" 


These  were  the  Hues  which  caused  Mr.  St.  John's  eyes  to 
sparkle  and  his  face  to  beam  with  smiles.  The  explanation 
of  this  is  not  difficult.  As  the  reader  has  guessed,  they 
were  in  the  handwriting  of  Miss  Bonnybel  Vane. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  smiling,  when  the  young 
ruan  had  finished,  "you  seem  as  much  pleased  as  myself." 

"I  am  delighted,  my  dear  Mr.  Purdie,"  was  the  laughing 
reply,  "  indeed  I  admire  them  so  greatly  that  I  shall  esteem 
as  a  great  favor  the  gift  of  the  manuscript,  promising  you  a 
clear  copy  in  an  hour." 

"  I  see  not  the  least  objection,  my  dear  Mr.  St.  John — pray 
keep  them — a  friend  eh ?"  he  added  with  a  sly  smile ;  "and 
now  I  wish  you  a  very  good  morning." 

The  friends  parted,  and  Mr.  St.  John  hastened  to  his  lodg' 
ings  to  make  the  copy  he  had  promised.  The  occupation 


172  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

was  often  interrupted  by  laughter,  but  the  copy  was  finished 
at  last  and  sent  to  the  office  of  the  "  Virginia  Gazette." 

On  the  fourth  page  of  the  old  journal  for  June  2,  1774, 
the  reader  will  find  them  now,  though  unaccompanied  by 
the  letter,  good  Mr.  Purdie  having  given  his  space  to  more 
important  events  than  the  epistles  of  young  ladies.  Here, 
in  the  discolored  pages  of  the  old  colonial  paper,  were  the 
verses  found  by  the  present  writer.  You  read  such  old 
pieces  with  smiles  and  sighs  if  you  are  a  dreamer.  Where 
now  are  the  lips  which  kissed,  the  eyes  that  shone — all  the 
"  charms"  which  true  lovers  "  confessed" — the  archness,  the 
favor,  the  disdain  ?  From  far-off  fields — the  fields  of  colo 
nial  Virginia — shines  the  form  of  this  lovely  little  maiden, 
so  long  dead.  She  passed  away  like  a  shadow  or  a  dream 
— like  the  brilliant  old  days  she  adorned  with  her  loveliness 
— her  bright  eyes  and  curls,  her  blushes  and  smiles.  But 
being  dead  she  still  lives  and  speaks ;  lives  here  on  the  yel 
low  old  page,  as  up  there  on  the  canvas !  The  "  giddy  girl " 
was  a  heroine  at  heart ;  that  heart,  like  ten  thousand  more 
of  her  sex's,  beat  high  and  true  in  the  storm  of  the  Revolu 
tion! 

Toute  dame,  tout  honneur  1 


CHAPTEK  XXX. 

HOW  MB.    ST.   JOHN   RETURNED   HIS   COMMISSION    TO    LORD 
DUNMORE. 

THE  young  man  had  just  returned  to  his  lodgings,  and 
had  scarcely  seated  himself,  when  a  knock  came  at  his  door, 
and  a  servant,  wearing  the  livery  of  Lord  Dunmore,  entered, 
and  bowing  respectfully,  handed  him  a  note. 

"  Good,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  now  I  think  the  storm 
comes  ;  I  am  summoned  to  be  scolded,  or  arrested." 

And  he  calmly  read  the  note,  bidding  the  servant  return. 
The  communication  was  in  these  words  : 


HEXEY    ST.    JOHN,    GESTTLEMAN.  173 

"  Mr.  Secretary  Foy  presents  his  respects  to  Mr.  St.  John, 
and  requests,  on  the  part  of  his  Excellency  Lord  Dunmore, 
that  Mr.  St.  John  will  attend  at  the  palace  this  afternoon, 
for  conversation  with  his  lordship  on  military  affairs." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  young  man,  tossing  the  paper  care 
lessly  on  the  table,  "I  suppose  there'll  be  an  explosion. 
I  care  nothing." 

Early  in  the  afternoon  he  made  his  toilette,  proceeded  to 
the  palace,  and  was  ushered  into  the  council  chamber. 

Lord  Dunmore,  clad  with  his  habitual  splendor,  sat  oppo 
site  the  portraits  of  the  king  and  queen,  the  members  of  his 
council  occupying  large  leather  chairs  ranged  in  a  circle. 
Behind  the  table,  draped  with  red  damask,  and  covered  with 
papers,  the  pale  face  of  Captain  Foy  was  seen,  as  he  bent 
over  the  documents  lying  before  him. 

Mr.  St.  John  was  ushered  in  with  great  form,  and  having 
attracted  the  Governor's  attention,  made  that  dignitary  a 
bow,  Vhich  was  perfectly  courteous  and  stiff. 

His  eye  then  made  the  circuit  of  the  apartment — dwelt 
on  the  members  of  the  council,  the  secretary,  the  Governor 
in  the  center. 

It  looked  very  much  like  a  trial  for  high  treason,  a  pro 
ceeding  of  the  Star  Chamber. 

Lord  Dunmore,  upon  whose  brow  was  visible  its  custom 
ary  expression  of  hauteur  and  ill  humor,  acknowledged  the 
young  man's  salute  by  the  least  possible  movement  of  his 
head. 

The  members  of  the  council  were,  however,  better  bred, 
and  inclined  their  heads  courteously,  as  the  new  comer  sa 
luted  them. 

"Well,  Mr.  St.  John,"  said  Lord  Dunmore,  moving  with 
dignity  in  his  large  throne-like  chair,  "  I  see  you  received 
my  message." 

"  I  did  receive  a  note  from  Captain  Foy,  your  Excellency." 

"  I  instructed  him  to  write,  as  you  doubtless  saw." 

Mr.  St.  John  inclined,  calmly. 


174  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

His  Excellency  did  not  seem  pleased  at  the  small  effect 
produced  upon  his  visitor  by  the  solemnity  and  state  of  his 
reception.  His  brow  clouded  with  its  unpleasant  frown,  and 
his  head  rose  more  haughtily  than  ever. 

"  I  wished  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said,  almost  rudely,  "  to 
express  my  disapprobation  of  your  lengthened  absence  from 
command  of  my  guards.  You  must  be  aware,  sir,  that  such 
absence  does  not  comport  with  my  views  of  the  duty  of  the 
commander  of  that  body,  but  I  am  ready  to  listen  to  any 
thing  in  explanation  from  yourself,  sir." 

As  the  Governor  spoke,  the  old  flush  of  anger  came  to 
Mr.  St.  John's  face,  and  his  head  rose  proudly  erect  as  he 
listened  to  these  words,  even  more  insulting  in  tone  than 
significance.  The  folly  of  any  exhibition  of  ill  temper  seemed, 
however,  to  strike  him  at  once,  and  he  controlled  himself  in 
an  instant. 

"  Do  not  be  embarrassed,  sir,"  said  the  Governor.  "  I 
have  no  desire  to  confuse  you." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  your  Excellency,"  said  the  young 
man,  calmly,  "  but  I  do  n't  feel  at  all  confused  or  embar 
rassed." 

"  I  thought,  being  a  young  man,  sir — " 

"  That  I  was  a  clodhopper  ?  No,  your  Excellency,  that 
is  not  my  station  in  society,"  replied  Mr.  St.  John,  with 
calm  politeness. 

The  vein  on  Lord  Dunmore's  brow  swelled,  and  his  little 
eyes  began  to  gleam  with  anger.  He  plainly  resented  the 
tone  of  unconcern  in  the  delinquent,  and  was  carried  out  of 
his  equanimity. 

"  You  amuse  yourself  at  my  expense,  sir,"  he  said,  coldly, 
"  and  intimate  that  I  intended  as  an  insult  what  was  not  so 
meant.  My  observation  arose  from  the  way  in  which  you 
carry  your  hat,  sir — what  I  should  call  an  uneasy  way !" 

And  the  Governor  frowned. 

Mr.  St.  John  was  motionless  and  silent  for  a  moment,  in 
presence  of  the  man  who  was  guilty  of  this  immense  exhibi 
tion  of  ill  breeding. 


HENHY   ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN".  175 

He  surveyed  Lord  Dunmore  with  an  expression  of  frigid 
surprise,  which  caused  the  vein  in  that  gentleman's  forehead 
to  distend  itself  hugely. 

"  My  hat,  your  Excellency  ?"  said  the  young  man,  with 
freezing  politeness,  "  perhaps  the  uneasiness  your  Excellency 
is  so  good  as  to  observe,  is  caused  by  the  fact  that  I  have 
no  place  to  deposit  it,  your  Excellency  not  having  requested 
me  to  be  seated." 

And  with  the  air  of  a  nobleman  who  has  been  outraged, 
Mr.  St.  John  made  his  lordship  a  low  and  exaggerated  bow. 

His  lordship  was  beaten  with  his  own  weapons,  his  rude 
ness  failed,  and  his  ill  temper  laughed  at  in  the  presence  of 
his  council,  the  most  loyal  of  whom  could  not  forbear  smil 
ing. 

His  countenance  colored  with  anger,  and  his  eyes  flashed. 

"  Well,  sir  !"  he  said,  "  you  gentlemen  of  Virginia  are  ex 
tremely  witty !  I  make  you  my  compliments,  sir,  upon  your 
attainments  in  private  theatricals !  Your  discourteous  re 
ply  to  my  simple  remark,  however,  sir,  shah1  not  move  me. 
If  I  overlooked  the  fact  that  you  were  standing,  it  was  be 
cause  I  am  not  accustomed  to  request  persons  who  are  called 
to  defend  themselves  before  me,  to  be  seated  in  my  pres 
ence." 

The  young  man  met  this  outburst  with  an  expression  of 
cold  disdain  lurking  in  his  eyes,  which  lashed  the  Governor's 
anger  into  fury. 

"  I  await  your  reply,  sir !"  he  said,  almost  trembling  with 
rage. 

"  If  your  lordship  will  frame  a  distinct  question,  I  will  re 
ply,"  said  Mr.  St.  John.  "  I  can  not  answer  your  denunci 
ation." 

"I  demand  why  you  have  absented  yourself  from  the  bar 
racks  of  my  guards  ?" 

"  I  went  to  visit  my  relations." 

"  That  is  no  excuse,  sir." 

"  I  inform  your  lordship  that  I  left  my  sub-lieutenant  in 
command,"  said  the  young  man,  coldly,  controlling  himself. 


176  HENRY  ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

"  That  was  wholly  informal,  without  my  permission,  sir !" 

"  Informal,  my  lord  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir !  worse  !     It  was  a  dereliction  of  duty  !" 

"  Your  lordship  proceeds  far,  and  I  am  at  a  loss  to  under 
stand  upon  what  grounds  this  decision  is  based." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit,  sir,  of  defending  my  opinions  on 
occasions  like  this !" 

"  This  is,  then,  simply  your  Excellency's  opinion  ?" 

"  No,  sir — it  is  the  opinion  of  every  rational  individual. 
You  have  deserted  your  post  and  gone  away  at  your  pleas 
ure,  sir,  leaving  your  command  to  take  care  of  itself!" 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  call  to  your  Excellency's  attention 
the  fact  that  Virginia  is  not  now  in  a  state  of  war." 

"  That  is  nothing,  sir  !" 

"  Pardon  me,  my  lord,  I  think  't  is  a  vast  deal.  During 
hostilities  I  should  not  have  gone  away." 

"  There  's  no  difference,  sir !" 

"  Your  Excellency  is  determined  to  find  fault  with  me." 

"  I  repeat  that  you  have  deserted  your  post,  sir !  I  re 
peat  that !" 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  repeat  that  my  suL  lieutenant  is  in 
command." 

"  You  know  perfectly,  sir,  that  he 's  no  fit  commander  for 
my  guards !" 

"He's  an  Englishman,  commissioned  by  your  Excel 
lency." 

"  Mr.  St.  John !"  said  the  Governor,  crimson  with  rage, 
"are  you  aware  with  whom  you  are  bandying  epithets  and 
contradictions  ?" 

"  Your  Excellency  has  spoken,  I  have  replied,"  returned 
the  young  man,  bracing  himself  against  the  coming  storm. 

"  Are  you  aware,  sir,  that  I  am  a  peer  of  the  realm  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  That  I  am  the  Governor  of  this  colony — do  you  know 
that,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  And  knowing  this,  sir — knowing  my  nobility,  and  my 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  177 

power — knowing  my  commission  from  his  Majesty — a  com 
mission,  sir,  which  gives  me  the  power  of  punishing  sedition 
and  treason  ! — knowing  this,  sir,  you  have  presumed  to  ad 
dress  me  as  you  have  done !  Pray,  who  are  you,  sir  ?"  added 
his  Excellency,  almost  trembling  with  rage  and  scorn,  "  who 
are  you,  to  reply  to  me  in  this  manner  ?" 

The  young  man  made  a  ceremonious  bow,  and  in  a  tone  as 
cold  as  ice,  replied, 

"Only  a  gentleman,  your  lordship  —  that,  and  nothing 
more." 

These  calm  words  put  the  finishing  touch  to  Lord  Dun- 
more's  wrath.  Beaten,  defeated,  derided,  humbled  almost, 
by  a  young  man  who  did  not  lose  his  temper,  while  he  was 
furious;  exposed  and  humiliated  thus  in  presence  of  his 
council  and  his  secretary,  the  Governor  shook  with  speech 
less  rage,  and  almost  rose  to  his  feet  in  the  tumult  of  his 
wrath. 

"Look  you,  sir!"  he  cried  with  an  explosion  of  passion, 
"  this  interview  has  come  to  a  conclusion !  There  is  but 
one  reply  I  have  to  make  to  your  insults,  sir !" 

His  lordship  turned  furiously  to  Captain  Foy,  and  would 
have  ended  his  threatening  sentence  by  an  order  to  that 
gentleman. 

Something  in  Captain  Foy's  eye,  however,  seemed  to  ar 
rest  him  even  in  the  height  of  his  rage.  The  dark  glance 
of  the  secretary  and  the  slight  movement  of  his  pale  lips, 
seemed  to  produce  an  instant  effect  upon  Lord  Dunmore, 
and  he  did  not  finish  the  sentence  which  doubtless  would 
have  ordered  the  arrest  of  Mr.  St.  John. 

The  subtle  glance  of  Captain  Foy  seemed  to  arouse  in  the 
Governor  his  own  large  supply  of  cunning,  and  he  leaned 
back  silent  for  a  moment  in  his  seat,  scowling  at  the  young 
man. 

Mr.  St.  John  pi-eserved  the  same  attitude  of  coldness  and 
disdain,  and  waited  to  be  addressed. 

"  Young  man,"  said  his  Excellency,  with  a  bad  affectation 
of  dignified  forbearance,  "you  have  in  this  conversation 


178  HENKT  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

adopted  a  manner  of  speaking  toward  myself  extremely  ir 
ritating  and  wholly  improper,  coming  from  one  of  your  age 
to  myself.  Permit  me,  also,  to  say,  sir,  that  more  than  you 
imagine  is  due  to  a  peer  of  the  realm  and  the  representative 
of  his  majesty  in  the  colony,  and  it  will  be  well  for  the  in 
habitants  of  this  colony  to  understand  the  fact.  Yes,  sir !" 
continued  his  Excellency,  carried  out  of  his  assumed  digni 
ty,  "  the  sooner  they  become  convinced  of  the  fact,  the  bet 
ter  for  them !  and  I  think  that  you,  sir,  have  much  yet  to 
learn." 

"  I  desire  to  treat  your  Excellency  with  every  particle  of 
respect  that  is  your  due,"  replied  Mr.  St.  John  coldly. 

"  Those  words  may  contain  a  new  insult,  sir  !" 

"  Your  Excellency's  number  of  imaginary  insults  drives 
me  to  despair." 

"  That's  a  very  pretty  speech,  sir !  Then  I  search  for  in 
sults  !" 

"  I  did  not  say  so,  my  lord." 

"But  you  looked  it !"  said  Dunmore,  gradually  yielding 
again  to  his  anger  ;  "  it  is  your  favorite  mode  of  outraging 
me,  sir!" 

"  Your  Excellency  seems  determined  to  be  outraged.  I 
have  the  misfortune  to  be  tried  and  convicted  before  my 
hearing,  in  the  mind  of  your  lordship." 

"  No,  sir !  this  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  placed  your 
self  upon  my  level,  even  arrogated  superiority,  I  think,  to 
judge  from  your  lordly  manner  !" 

And  the  Governor's  lip  curled  with  a  sneer. 

"  Yes,  sir !"  said  the  Governor,  the  vein  in  his  forehead 
again  swelling,  "  on  the  day  of  Lady  Dunmore's  entry  I  was 
subjected  to  your  highness'  imposing  air,  and  was  informed 
that  I  was  afraid  of  a  child.  Your  highness,"  he  continued, 
with  a  disdainful  sneer,  "  was  so  good  as  to  find  fault  with 
my  honest  expression  of  opinion  about  the  traitor,  Waters, 
and  reprove  me  with  your  eyes !  By  Heaven,  sir  !"  cried 
Lord  Dunmore,  starting  up  and  relapsing  into  greater  rage 
than  before,  "  by  Heaven,  sir !  I  have  endured  sufficient 


HEXKY   ST.   JOHIf,    GENTLEMAH.  179 

insult,  and  my  patience  is  ended.  Mr.  Lieutenant  St. 
John—" 

"  Stop,  sir  ! — my  lord,  I  should  say — a  moment !"  inter 
rupted  the  young  man,  rising  to  a  loftier  and  colder  attitude, 
"  I  am  no  longer  Lieutenant  St.  John — I  no  longer  hold  a 
commission  in  the  service  of  your  Excellency,  or  the  colo 
ny  ;  I  resign  that  commission,  and  return  it  to  your  Excel 
lency,  and  scorn  it !" 

As  the  young  man  spoke,  his  face  turned  white  with  rage 
and  disdain,  and  taking  from  his  bosom  the  parchment,  he 
threw  it  at  the  Governor's  feet. 

"  'T  is  the  post  of  a  slave  !"  he  said,  "  and  I  '11  be  no  man's 
lackey !  Your  Excellency  may  supply  yourself  with  another 
menial !  I  '11  not  fill  the  position  of  head  waiter  to  any  peer 
of  the  realm  that  ever  was  born !  I  'm  a  Virginian,  and 
I  'm  free  !  and  I  '11  not  be  your  slave  to  shiver  at  your  frown, 
and  crouch  like  a  hound  at  your  bidding !  I  've  been  out 
raged  and  insulted ;  your  lordship  has  tried  to  put  your  foot 
on  my  neck,  and  I  resist,  that  is  all !  I  resist !  and  I  add 
that  I  '11  go  to  my  death  before  mortal  man  makes  a  serf 
of  me  !  I  have  done,  sir !  You  hear  what  has  boiled  in  my 
breast  from  the  first  day  I  entered  your  service — from  the 
hour  when,  misled  by  your  unworthy  representations,  I  put 
on  your  livery !  You  hear  a  Virginian's  voice — one  who  's 
subjected  to  such  insults  as  he  '11  no  longer  endure  !  I  throw 
back  your  lordship's  commission,  and  scorn  it,  and  stamp  on 
it !  I  '11  not  be  your  slave,  and  I  'm  free  again  !" 

And  trembling  with  passion,  his  eyes  burning  in  his  pale 
face  like  balls  of  fire,  the  young  man  turned  toward  the 
door. 

Dunmore  rose  up  as  on  springs.  The  members  of  the 
council  had  risen  tumultuously  to  their  feet  too,  and  the 
eyes  of  Captain  Foy  glittered  in  his  white  countenance  as 
he  towered  above  the  group. 

"  Captain  Foy !"  said  Lord  Dunmore,  pallid  with  rage, 
"  call  the  sentinel  to  arrest  this  man." 

Mr.  St.  John's  sword — a  part  of  his  full  dress — flashed  in- 


180  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

stantly  from  its  scabbard,  and  he  struck  his  hat  down  upon 
his  brows  furiously. 

"  I  '11  not  be  arrested !"  he  said  ;  "  I  swore  that  I  would 
first  plunge  this  sword  into  your  lordship's  breast !  and  I  '11 
do  it !" 

As  the  weapon  flashed  before  his  eyes,  and  these  furious 
words  resounded  through  the  room,  Lord  Dunmore  trem 
bled  and  drew  back. 

His  lordship  was  not  courageous. 

"I  '11  not  be  arrested !"  added  the  young  man,  white  with 
wrath ;  "  I  '11  not  be  sent  to  rot  in  a  prison,  or  tried  for 
sedition  on  your  lordship's  evidence.  You  have  made  me 
desperate,  and  I  '11  go  all  lengths  to  defend  myself!" 

With  which  words  Mr.  St.  John  left  the  room  and  the 
palace,  unpursued  and  unmolested. 

We  shall  only  add  that  the  council  broke  up  in  confu 
sion,  and  that  Lord  Dunmore  and  Captain  Foy  remained 
alone. 

Dunmore  strode  about  the  room  crimson  with  rage,  and 
uttering  violent  curses,  with  which  he  seemed  to  endeavor 
to  unburden  himself  of  his  wrath. 

Captain  Foy  was  writing,  serenely,  calm,  pale  and  quiet. 

"The  instructions  for  Conolly  are  ready,  my  lord,"  he 
said ;  "  let  us  forget  this  little  scene,  and  come  to  busi 
ness." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE      LETTER. 

ST.  JOHN  proceeded  to  his  lodgings,  frowning,  gesticulat 
ing  and  muttering  wrathfully,  to  the  great  astonishment  of 
the  passers  by.  Reaching  his  chambers,  he  sat  down,  began 
to  smoke  a  pipe,  and  grew  more  composed. 

"  The  fact  is  I  gave  him  as  good  as  he  sent,"  the  young 
man  at  length  muttered,  with  a  grim  smile,  "  insulted  him 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  181 

to  the  teeth,  and  humiliated  him  in  presence  of  his  council 
— that 's  some  satisfaction  in  any  event.  I  suppose  I  'm  on 
the  Black  List  ere  now,  and  the  order  for  my  arrest  is  issued. 
Let  'em  attempt  it !  I  '11  not  be  taken  alive,  and  it 's  odds 
if  I  do  n't  raise  such  a  storm  in  the  streets  of  the  good 
town  of  Williamsburg,  as  will  break  some  windows  in  his 
Excellency's  palace !" 

Having  thus  relieved  his  feelings,  St.  John  was  about  to 
fall  into  a  reverie  when  his  servant  entered  bearing  the  tall 
silver  candlesticks.  Taking  from  the  table  a  letter  which 
the  young  man  had  not  seen,  he  placed  it  on  a  waiter  and 
handed  it  to  his  master,  with  the  explanation  that  Dick,  from 
Vanely,  had  brought  it  in  his  absence. 

St.  John  took  the  letter,  motioned  the  servant  away,  and 
glanced  at  the  superscription.  He  had  no  sooner  done  so 
than  his  frowning  brow  cleared ;  his  compressed  lips  ex 
panded  with  a  smile.  The  letter  was  sealed  with  blue  wax, 
stamped  with  the  Vane  coat  of  arms — an  armed  hand  grasp 
ing  a  sword,  and  beneath,  a  shield  with  three  mail  gaunlets, 
supported  by  a  stag  and  sphynx — the  motto,  Nee  temere,  nee 
timide* 

But  St.  John  did  not  look  at  the  seal — the  direction  was 
in  a  handwriting  which  he  knew  perfectly — and  carefully 
opening  the  letter,  with  a  smile,  and  the  murmured  words, 
"  '  Neither  rashly,  nor  fearfully !' — an  admirable  motto  for 
a  lover !"  read  what  follows : 

"VANELY,  Thursday. 
"  These  to  his  Excellency ',  the  Lieutenant,  greeting  : 

"  Papa  bids  me  write  to  your  lordship,  and  say  that  you 
need  not  trouble  yourself  to  engage  apartments  for  us  at 
Mrs.  White's,  on  the  night  of  assembly,  as  Mr.  Burwell  has 
invited  us  all  to  stay  with  him  at  his  town  residence,  and  I 
know  somebody  who  's  as  glad  as  glad  can  be,  for  she  '11  see 
her  dear  JSelle-JBouche — Miss  Burwell  once,  but  now  un 
happily  a  victim  on  the  altar  of  matrimony.f 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XIV.  f  Ibid.,  No.  XV. 


182  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

"  Having  executed  my  commission  I  might  terminate  my 
letter  here,  but  I  shall  take  pity  on  your  lordship's  forlorn 
condition,  so  far  away  from  home,  and  add  a  few  lines.  The 
day  you  went  —  that  is  yesterday  —  Barry  Hunter  came, 
and  said  that  his  lands  in  the  southwest  of  the  colony  had 
grown  immensely  in  value,  and  that  any  young  lady  who 
accepted  him,  might  be  a  princess  if  she  chose,  and  have  a 
kingdom.  A  princess,  forsooth  !  A  princess  of  the  woods, 
I  fancy,  with  bears  and  panthers  for  subjects!  Neverthe 
less  Barry 's  extremely  handsome,  and  I  am  seriously  think 
ing  of  marrying  the  young  gentleman,  if  he  asks  me,  which 
he  shall !  Just  mark  my  words,  sir. 

"  Before  I  end  I  've  a  favor  to  request  of  your  Excellency. 
'T  is  to  write  a  line  to  that  tyrannical  Mr.  William  Effing- 
ham  of  the '  The  Cove,'  in  Glo'ster,  commanding  him,  on  pain 
of  my  displeasure,  to  bring  Kate  to  the  assembly.  She  's 
the  queen  of  goodness,  and  the  star  of  loveliness — at  which 
declaration  I  suppose  your  lordship  laughs,  and  says  '  pooh ! 
pooh !  a  woman  chanting  the  praises  of  another !'  That 
would  be  quite  in  keeping  with  your  ordinary  turn  for  satire 
and  injustice.  But  say  what  you  choose,  only  write.  If  she 
does  not  come  I  '11  say  with  Robin  Adair,  '  What 's  the  dull 
town  to  me — Kate  is  not  there  !'  And  you  know  the  other 
words,  '  What  makes  the  assembly  shine  ?'  to  which  I  re 
ply,  Kate !  Mr.  Champ  Effingham  and  Madam  Clare  will 
be  present,  and  't  will  be  a  delightful  family  reunion  ! 

"  Will  not  your  Excellency  come  to  Vanely,  and  bestow 
upon  us  the  brilliancy  of  his  countenance  before  the  assem 
bly  ?  I  pine  without  him ;  my  days  are  spent  in  sighing  and 
looking  down  the  road ;  I  've  quite  lost  my  appetite,  and 
Mr.  Thomas  Alston,  who  was  here  this  morning,  could  not 
make  me  laugh !  When  you  come  to-morroic,  be  sure  to 
make  a  noise  in  opening  the  great  gate,  that  I  may  put  on 
my  best  gown  and  ruffles  to  receive  your  Excellency  as  be 
comes  his  importance. 

"Goodness  gracious !  what  a  flood  of  foolish  nonsense !  as  if 
so  great  a  military  gentleman  could  think  of  his  poor  little 


HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  183 

country  cousin.  Has  the  explosion  taken  place  at  the  palace  ? 
I  hope  not.  Of  course  I  do  n't  expect  you  about  half  past 
eleven  to-morrow  morning.  You  must  be  far  too  busy  with 
important  matters ! 

"  Your  lordship  will  please  excuse  this  thick,  rough  sheet 
of  Bath  post.  'T  is  the  only  paper  in  the  house. 

"  BONNYBEL. 

"  Postscript. — Have  you  heard  from  the  young  lady  in 
Glo'ster  lately  ?  I  'm  desperately  anxious  to  become  ac 
quainted  with  my  future  cousin.  You  must  introduce  me 
at  the  assembly.  I  shall  make  her  ladyship  my  very  finest 
curtsey." 

The  young  man  dropped  the  hand  which  held  the  letter, 
and  smiled. 

"  The  young  lady  in  Glo'ster !"  he  murmured ;  "  so  my 
friendship  for  that  damsel  has  subjected  us  to  the  curious 
eyes,  and  the  gossip  of  the  tattling  world !  I  'd  certainly 
show  my  taste  ;  but  pretty  Miss  Puss  has  a  terrible  rival ! 
Her  countenance  is  lovely,  't  is  very  true,  with  its  beautiful 
eyes  and  bewitching  lips  ;  but  I  look  beyond  to  a  face  I  've 
loved  from  boyhood !" 

And  he  reread  the  letter,  thinking  that  her  hand  had  lain 
upon  the  paper.  Poor  St.  John !  Then  carefully  deposit 
ing  the  paper  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  doublet,  he  went 
and  leaned  from  the  open  window,  and  surveyed  the  moon 
lit  streets  of  the  town,  upon  which  the  shades  of  night  were 
descending. 

An  irresistible  desire  took  possession  of  him  to  wander 
out  in  the  balmy  night,  and  putting  on  his  hat,  he  issued 
forth  into  the  nearly  deserted  streets. 

Buried  in  thought,  he  went  on,  unconsciously,  for  some 
time.  Suddenly  he  saw  a  grove  of  trees  before  him,  and 
looking  around,  discovered  that  he  had  made  his  way,  with 
out  knowing  it,  as  far  as  the  picturesque  "  Indian  Camp." 


184  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

WHAT     HAPPENED     AT     THE     "INDIAN     CAMP." 

THE  "Indian  Camp"  was  a  wild  and  secluded  retreat,  the 
haunt,  in  former  times,  so  said  tradition,  of  the  great  King 
Powhatan  and  his  dusky  followers.  In  course  of  time  it  had, 
however,  become  the  resort  of  those  fond  of  natural  beau 
ties — especially  the  chosen  meeting-place  of  lovers.  Many 
allusions  to  it  may  be  found  in  letters  of  the  period. 

It  now  lay  before  the  eyes  of  the  young  man,  clothed  in 
all  its  wild  and  mysterious  beauty.  Seating  himself  upon  a 
mound  of  moss-covered  rock,  he  gazed  pensively  upon  the 
scene,  surrendering  his  thoughts  wholly  to  the  woman  whom 
he  loved.  For  an  hour  he  was  scarcely  aware  of  the  objects 
around  him.  The  weird  moonlight  fell  from  the  heights  of 
heaven  unheeded.  The  dazzling  orb  rode  like  a  ship  of 
pearl  through  the  drifting  clouds ;  the  melancholy  whip- 
poorwill  sent  his  mournful  cry  from  the  wood;  the  owl 
whooped  from  the  low  grounds;  the  river  breeze  came 
and  fanned  the  dreamer's  cheek — he  was  still  absorbed  in 
thought. 

"Yes,"  murmured  the  young  man,  "I'll  go  and  essay 
my  fate ;  '  to-morrow,  at  half  past  eleven,'  shall  find  me  at 
Vanely,  and  I  '11  put  it  on  the  hazard  of  the  die.  Is  there 
hazard  ?  Did  I  misinterpret  her  demeanor  on  that  evening 
at  the  trysting  tree  ?  Courage  !  nee  timide,  nee  temere  /" 

And  the  murmur  died  into  silence.  Another  hour  passed 
by,  the  young  man  pondered  still,  gazing  at  the  old  shadowy 
mounds  and  trenches  as  they  gleamed  in  the  moonlight. 

Suddenly  the  light  was  obscured,  and  raising  his  eyes,  he 
saw  that  a  huge  cloud,  moving  slowly  like  a  great  black 
hulk,  had  invaded  the  moon,  and  buried  it  in  its  ebon  folds. 

In  the  darkness  the  rude  objects  of  the  scene  loomed  out 
more  shadowy  and  solemn  still,  and  the  cry  of  the  whippoor- 
will  assumed  a  deeper  sadness.  St.  John  rose  and  leaned 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  IB 5 

against  the  trunk  of  an  oak,  whose  wide  boughs  cast  an  im 
penetrable  shade,  and  thus  elevated,  as  it  were,  above  the 
scene,  listened  to  the  subdued  and  mysterious  sounds  of  night. 

All  at  once  to  these  stealthy  noises  was  added  another 
sound  ;  he  thought  at  first  that  his  fancy  deceived  him,  but 
this  impression  soon  disappeared.  He  heard  cautious  voices 
whispering. 

He  bent  forward,  inclining  his  ear  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound.  He  was  not  mistaken  in  his  surmise.  As  he  gazed 
and  listened,  holding  his  breath  almost,  two  dark  figures 
detached  themselves,  as  it  were,  from  the  darkness,  and  ad 
vanced  toward  the  spot  which  he  occupied. 

With  an  unconscious  movement  he  drew  deeper  into  the 
shadow  of  the  heavy  boughs,  and,  blended  with  the  shade 
which  they  cast,  was  lost  completely  to  view. 

The  figures  passed  so  close  to  him  that  their  garments  al 
most  touched  his  own,  still  whispering  in  a  low  and  stealthy 
tone.  They  had  gone  but  a  few  paces  when  the  obscuring 
cloud  passed  from  the  moon,  and  St.  John  discerned  them 
clearly.  The  first  figure  was  very  tall,  the  other  shorter, 
and  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  a  long  cloak,  upon  whose 
collar  drooped  the  folds  of  what  seemed  a  Spanish  hat,  com 
pletely  concealing  the  face. 

The  taller  of  the  two  wore  no  wrapping,  and  Mr.  St.  John 
distinctly  recognized  the  form  of  Lindon.  He  bent  earnestly 
toward  his  companion,  and  seemed  to  be  urging  something 
which  had  been  met  with  opposition.  Mr.  St.  John  could 
not  catch  the  words,  which  were  uttered  in  a  low  and  cau 
tious,  though  very  excited  tone,  and  he  was  glad  that  they 
did  not  reach  him ;  glad  when  the  voice  grew  more  and 
more  a  mere  murmur,  and  Lindon,  with  his  silent  com 
panion,  disappeared  in  the  distance  and  the  darkness.  Their 
footfalls,  growing  fainter  and  fainter,  were  finally  absorbed 
by  the  silence. 

St.  John  stood  for  an  instant  looking  in  the  direction  they 
had  taken,  and  then,  issuing  forth  from  the  shadow,  calmly 
bent  his  way  back  to  Williamsburg. 


186  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

"  That  is  really  something  more  than  I  bargained  for," 
he  muttered  as  he  went  along.  "I  came  to  enjoy  my  own 
thoughts  in  silence,  and  alone,  and  here  I  stumble  on  this 
man  and  one  of  his  companions.  They  say  that  Lindon  and 
his  Excellency  have  exchanged  many  civilities,  and  my  head 
to  half  a  crown !  that  man  is  engaged  in  the  plots  against 
the  liberties  of  Virginia!" 

"  Well,"  continued  the  young  man,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  he  looked  thoughtfully  toward  the  lights  of  the  town, 
which  were,  one  by  one,  disappearing,  like  fire-flies  going 
to  sleep,  "  well,  let  this  gentleman  of  the  villainous  counte 
nance  go  on  his  way.  He  is  nothing  to  me,  and  I  do  n't 
fear  that  he  will  do  us  any  injury.  He  plots  and  walks  in 
darkness  as  his  congenial  element,  but  there  are  others  who 
conspire  against  the  conspirator!" 

With  these  words  St.  John  returned  to  his  chamber,  and 
after  a  last  look  at  the  moon,  fell  asleep  murmuring  the 
motto  of  Bonnybel's  seal,  "  Nee  temere,  nee  timide  /" 

He  had  a  strange  dream.  He  fancied  himself  again  at  the 
Indian  Camp,  with  the  mysterious  figures  of  Lindon  and  his 
companion  before  him.  They  disappeared,  but  suddenly 
came  upon  him  again,  before  he  was  aware,  behind  his  back. 
He  saw  Linden's  face  convulsed  with  a  smile  of  triumphant 
hate,  as  he  placed  a  dagger  in  the  hand  of  his  companion, 
with  which  the  cloaked  figure  struck  at  the  young  man's 
back.  He  started  from  sleep,  and  half  sprung  from  bed,  but 
laughing  at  his  fears,  soon  fell  asleep  again,  his  slumber  re 
maining  uninterrupted  until  morning. 

Do  dreams  ever  forewarn  ?  Had  Mr.  St.  John  believed 
so,  and  acted  upon  his  convictions,  the  whole  current  of  this 
narrative  would  have  been  changed. 

At  seven  o'clock  upon  the  following  morning,  he  was  pur 
suing,  at  full  speed,  the  road  to  Vanely. 


HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  187 

CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

A      SLEEPING      BEAUTY. 

THE  young  man  rode  so  well  that  before  the  hour  indi 
cated  in  Bonnybel's  letter,  he  entered  the  great  gate  of 
Vanely,  and  cantered  to  the  door. 

No  servant  was  Aasible,  and  securing  his  horse  to  the  rack 
beneath  one  of  the  great  oaks,  he  entered  the  mansion. 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  library  expecting  to  see  Colonel 
Vane  ;  his  hand  was  extended  to  greet  the  old  gentleman, 
but  suddenly  he  paused. 

In  the  great  leather  chair  by  the  table,  covered  with  books 
and  papers,  Miss  Bonnybel,  overcome,  apparently,  by  the 
balmy  influence  of  the  May  morning,  was  slumbering  tran 
quilly.  Upon  her  lap  rested  an  open  volume,  which  seemed 
to  have  escaped  from  her  hand  as  she  fell  asleep,  for  one  of 
the  slender  fingers  remained  between  the  leaves. 

St.  John  paused  for  a  moment  to  take  in  fully  the  entire 
details  of  the  pretty  picture. 

The  great  chair  had  a  sloping  back,  and  thus  the  young 
lady's  position  was  almost  that  of  one  reclining.  The  grace 
ful  head  was  languidly  thrown  back,  and  drooped  side- 
wise  towards  the  rounded  shoulder.  Her  hair  had  become 
unbound  and  lay  in  brown  masses  of  curls  upon  her  neck. 
Her  small  feet,  with  high-heeled  slippers,  decorated  with 
rich  rosettes,  reposed  upon  a  velvet-cushioned  cricket,  and 
the  little  pointed  toes,  over  which  fell  the  ribbons  of  the 
artificial  roses,  peeped  out  gracefully  from  their  hiding 
place. 

The  young  man  remained  for  some  time  silent  and  mo 
tionless,  watching  the  sleeper.  Not  a  trait  of  the  picture 
escaped  his  brilliant  and  penetrating  glance.  His  laugh 
ing  eye  riveted  itself  upon  every  detail — on  the  forehead 
bathed  in  the  dews  of  slumber,  the  dusky  lashes  lying 


188  HENBY  ST.   J*OHN,    GENTLEMAH. 

on  the  rosy  cheeks,  the  glossy  curls,  which  rose  and  fell  with 
the  tranquil  breathing  of  the  maiden.  He  smiled  as  his  gaze 
dwelt  upon  the  little  slippers,  so  prettily  arranged  even  in 
sleep ;  on  the  hand,  glittering  with  a  single  diamond  which 
hung  languidly  over  one  arm  of  the  chair  ;  upon  the  taper 
ing  arms,  the  countenance  filled  with  maiden  sweetness, 
and  the  fawn-colored  dress,  falling  in  ample  folds  around  the 
wearer's  graceful  figure. 

We  doubt  if  even  the  most  violent  advocates  of  propriety 
will  blame  him,  when  he  cautiously  approached,  and  bend 
ing  down,  took  the  disengaged  hand  and  kissed  it  in  a  cous 
inly  way. 

But  Miss  Bonnybel  did  not  awake.  He  looked  at  the 
volume  lying  on  her  lap.  It  was  the  book  of  ballads  which 
he  had  been  reading  to  her  on  the  morning  when  Lindon 
interrupted  them,  and  she  had  opened  at  the  particular 
poem  they  had  read  together. 

A  slight  color  came  to  the  young  man's  cheek.  Let  us 
pardon  him — he  was  in  love.  He  hesitated  what  course  to 
pursue,  but,  all  at  once,  this  hesitation  disappeared.  His 
glance  fell,  with  an  audacious  smile,  upon  the  coquettish 
feet,  and  he  had  fixed  on  his  scheme.  This  scheme  was 
simply  to  remove  the  rosettes,  which  were  secured  by  small 
silver  buckles,  from  the  shoes,  to  go  into  the  hall  and  make 
some  noise  which  should  arouse  Miss  Bonnybel,  and  then  to 
enjoy,  from  his  hiding  place,  the  young  lady's  surprise  and 
confusion. 

He  carefully  set  about  his  undertaking,  and  became  so 
absorbed  in  it  that  he  did  not  see  the  maiden's  head  rise 
with  a  sudden  movement,  her  eyes  open,  and  fix  themselves 
upon  him.  He  raised  his  head,  however,  to  see  if  the  sleeper 
was  undisturbed,  and  Miss  Bonnybel  closed  her  eyes,  and 
drew  a  long,  labored  breath — smiling,  it  seemed,  in  her 
sleep  !  The  young  man's  smile  replied  to  it,  and  having  de 
tached  one  of  the  rosettes,  he  set  about  securing  the  other. 

Then  it  was  that  he  heard  suddenly  the  calm  and  satiri 
cal  words, 


HENRY   ST.    JOHN",    GENTLEMAN.  189 

"  Do  n't  you  think  that  will  do,  sir  ?  I  should  suppose  that 
one  was  enough !" 

Thus  caught  in  the  act,  Mr.  Harry  St.  John  remained  for 
a  moment  dumbfoundered.  But  recovering  his  equanimity, 
he  said,  laughing, 

"  Did  you  compose  yourself  in  that  pretty  attitude  to  re 
ceive  me,  Bonnybel  ?"  - 

"  Humph !  and  you  suppose  I  would  take  the  trouble !" 

"  You  said  you  'd  put  on  your  best  gown  and  ruffles." 

"  I  was  speaking  satirically,  sir !  I  suppose  your  vanity 
will  not  believe  it — but,  pray,  what  are  you  doing  to  my 
feet  ?» 

"  I  was  only  taking  off  your  rosettes.  I  should  like  to  ex 
amine  them ;  they  're  very  pretty !" 

"  I  suspect  you  intended  some  trick !  I  know  it,  sir ! 
But  enough !  You  '11  please  let  them  alone !" 

And  Miss  Bonnybel  withdrew  her  feet,  vivaciously,  from 
sight. 

"  I  feel  profound  remorse  for  my  presumption,"  said  Mr. 
St.  John,  in  a  contrite  tone ;  "  let  me  atone  for  my  offense, 
most  beautiful  lady.  The  culprit  can  only  make  restitution 
— though  your  feet  are  dangerous  things  to  approach  !  Hold 
them  out !" 

Bonnybel  hesitated,  glancing  doubtfully  at  him.  But 
the  young  lady  had  lovely  feet,  and  her  obduracy  yielded  to 
her  vanity.  She  thrust  out  the  extreme  point  of  the  slip 
per  deprived  of  its  rosette,  and  Mr.  St.  John  secured  the  or 
nament  in  its  place.  He  was  so  long  doing  so,  however, 
that  the  young  lady  tapped  her  foot  impatiently,  and  then 
the  wide  folds  of  her  dress  swept  over  foot  and  slipper. 

"  You  see,"  said  her  companion,  "  I  've  come  in  obedience 
to  your  command.  Where  's  uncle  ?" 

"  They  all  went  over  to  Maycock's,"  returned  the  young 
lady.  "  Heigho !  I  've  had  such  a  dull  time  reading  that 
love-sick  ballad.  It  put  me  to  sleep." 

And  she  yawned. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  take  a  ride,"  she  added. 


190  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

"Would  you?  Then  I '11  go  order  your  horse.  Mine's 
at  the  door.  Where  shall  we  go  ?" 

"  Anywhere ;  say  to  '  Flower  of  Hundreds.'  " 

"  My  old  rattletrap  ?    Well,  so  be  it." 

And  the  young  man  went  and  ordered  Miss  Bonnybel's 
horse. 

They  were  soon  galloping  over  the  fields  and  through 
the  forest,  exchanging  a  hundred  jests,  and  an  hour's  ride 
brought  them  to  their  destination. 

"  Flower  of  Hundreds,"  Mr.  St.  John's  mansion,  stood  on 
an  elevated  plateau,  near  the  river.  Instead  of  a  "  rattle 
trap,"  it  was  a  fine  old  country  house,  with  a  score  of  apart 
ments,  stables  sufficient  to  accommodate  a  hundred  horses, 
and  a  servant  for  every  pane  in  every  window. 

They  entered  the  fine  old  grounds,  and  the  gray-haired 
African,  left  as  major  domo,  by  his  master,  came  and  greeted 
them  with  dignity  and  respect.  Half  a  dozen  negro  boys 
ran  to  take  their  horses,  and  leaning  lightly  on  the  arm  of 
her  cavalier,  Miss  Bonnybel  held  up  her  long  skirt,  and  en 
tered. 

Along  the  walls  of  the  old  antler-decorated  hall  hung  the 
St.  Johns,  male  and  female,  of  a  dozen  generations.  A  num 
ber  of  fox-hounds  rose  to  welcome  the  visitors,  but,  neglect 
ing  the  young  lady,  bestowed  their  entire  caresses  upon  the 
young  man. 

"  See  the  small  discrimination  of  the  canine  species,"  said 
St.  John,  "  they  neglect  '  Beauty'  for  the  notice  of  the 
'  Beast.' " 

"  I  always  distrust  your  mock  humility,  and  especially  your 
compliments ;  the  dogs  like  you  because  they  'vc  had  no 
body  else  to  like ;  you  're  a  miserable  old  bachelor  !" 

"  So  I  am,  but  how  can  I  help  that  ?" 

"Humph!  very  easily.  That  is  to  say,  sir,  you  can 
try !" 

And  Miss  Bonnybel  gave  her  cousin  an  audacious  glance, 
shot  over  her  right  shoulder,  and  full  of  coquettish  auda 
city. 


HENBY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  191 

""What 's  the  use  of  trying  ?"  he  said.  "  'T  is  very  easy 
to  get  married,  but  difficult  to  get  the  girl  one  wants." 

"  And  she  is  to  marry  your  lordship  without  being  asked, 
I  suppose  !  That 's  very  reasonable  indeed  1" 

St.  John  looked  steadily  at  his  companion,  to  discover  if 
the  words  meant  more  than  was  expressed.  But  she  darted 
from  him,  and  ran  into  the  great  sitting-room. 

"  O  !  there 's  my  favorite  portrait,"  she  cried  ;  "  the  pic 
ture  of  Sir  Arthur  St.  John,  is  n't  it,  of  the  time  of  his 
Majesty  Charles  II.,  who  died  for  love  ?  What  a  noble 
face,  with  its  pointed  beard,  and  long,  gay  curling  '  love 
locks !' » 

"  'T  is  handsome  indeed,  but  do  you  admire  him  for  dying 
of  love  ?" 

"  Yes — to  distraction  !  I  wish  he  'd  courted  me !  He  'd 
never  have  died !" 

"  Pity  you  did  n't  live  in  his  Majesty's  times,"  said  St. 
John,  with  a  glance  of  admiration  ;  "the  Arthurs  have  all 
gone,  and  our  hair  to-day  is  cut  close.  You  might  marry 
a  gentleman  of  the  St.  Johns  somewhere,  but  he'd  be  apt 
to  look  far  less  romantic." 

It  was  Miss  Bonnybel's  turn  to  dart  a  look  of  curiosity  at 
her  cousin  now,  but  she  read  nothing  in  his  face. 

With  a  sudden  laugh,  the  conversation  was  turned  by  the 
young  lady,  and  then  they  ran  all  over  the  old  mansion,  pry 
ing  into  every  nook,  and  laughing  at  every  thing. 

An  hour  passed  thus,  and  then  they  remounted  and"  re 
turned  to  Vanely,  where  they  found  the  ladies  of  the  family 
and  the  colonel. 

St.  John  related  the  scene  at  the  Governor's,  with  many 
amusing  exaggerations,  but  he  was  glad  at  last  to  steal  away 
into  a  corner  with  Bonnybel,  who  drew  him  toward  her  with 
laughing  glances. 

Thus  passed  several  days,  and,  with  every  passing  hour, 
the  dazzling  loveliness  of  Miss  Bonnybel  increased  in  her 
lover's  eyes,  and  he  found  his  resolution  failing  him. 

In  their  rides  and  walks,  the  damsel  said  a  hundred  care- 


192  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

less  things  which  made  his  pulse  throb,  and  her  dangerous 
eyes  gave  meaning  to  her  mischief. 

Who  can  paint  such  a  compound,  as  she  was,  of  audacity 
and  reserve,  of  feeling  and  mirth  ?  who  could  place,  in  cold 
words,  the  light,  and  fire,  and  attraction  of  her  brilliant 
eyes  ?  The  present  chronicler  is  unequal  to  the  task.  He 
sees  her  smiles  and  coquetries,  her  pouts  and  blushes ;  he 
hears  her  laughter  and  her  sighs,  but  he  can  not  describe 
them. 

Of  what  those  days  of  constant  meeting  resulted  in,  he 
can  tell  with  ease,  however.  But  even  this  trouble  is  spared 
him.  By  good  fortune,  he  has  a  letter  from  St.  John  to  his 
friend  Mr.  Alston,  and  this  will  tell  the  tale. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

ST.  JOHN,  FROM   HIS   HOUSE  OF  "  FLOWER   OF  HUNDREDS,"  TO 
HIS  FRIEND,  TOM  ALSTON,  AT  "  MOOREFIELD." 

"FLOWER  OP  HUNDREDS,  May  22,  17T4. 

"WELL,  Tom,  I  've  got  my  quietus.  You  've  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  from  a  young  gentleman  who 's  just  been  dis 
carded  ! 

"  Do  you  start,  my  dear  friend  ?  Does  the  event  seem 
so  tery  tremendous  and  unexpected  ?  I  'm  sorry  to  shock 
your  feelings,  and  would  not  do  it  for  the  world,  could  I 
avoid  it,  but  the  fact  is  as  I  've  stated. 

"  I  do  not  take  the  event  with  your  equanimity ;  I  am 
sufficiently  miserable  even  to  satisfy  the  vanity  of  the  young 
lady  who  has  thought  it  decorous  to  give  me  many  reasons 
to  believe  that  she  returned  my  affection,  and  then  to  inform 
me  that  she  can't  be  my  wife.  You  see  I  'm  angry,  as  well 
as  unhappy.  I  do  n't  deny  it,  and  I  think  I  've  some  reason. 

"  I  went  to  Vanely,  on  Saturday,  and  we  rode  hither, 
where  we  spent  an  hour,  and  then  returned ;  on  Sunday, 


HENRY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  193 

you  remember,  we  met  at  church,  and  on  Monday — but 
I  'm  prosing  with  a  detail  of  my  movements.  I  meant  to 
say  that  on  the  visit  here,  in  all  of  our  rides,  and  interviews, 
and  conversations,  I  was  fond  enough  to  imagine  than  I  saw 
some  indications  of  real  love  on  Bonnybel's  part.  She  de 
clared  that  I  would  find  no  difficulty  in  marrying,  that  faint 
heart  never  won  fair  lady,  upbraided  me  for  not  speaking, 
as  if  maidens  could  propose  themselves,  and  in  a  thousand 
different  ways,  led  me  to  believe  that  she  loved  me,  and 
was  willing  to  marry  me. 

"  On  these  hints  I  spoke ;  it  was  one  evening  at  the  tryst- 
ing  tree,  the  old  oak  at  the  end  of  the  lawn,  you  know,  and 
I  made  myself  clearly  understood.  You  know  that,  much 
as  I  may  love  a  woman,  I  'm  not  the  man  to  kneel  at  her 
feet,  and  wipe  my  eyes,  and  whine  out,  ' please  love  me!' 
On  the  contrary,  I  told  Miss  Bonnybel  simply  that  I  loved 
her  truly,  and  asked  her  to  marry  me. 

"  You  should  have  seen  her  look  when  I  spoke  thus.  She 
became  crimson,  and  was  silent  for  a  time.  Then — but  hang 
it,  Tom !  I  can't  fill  the  chair  of  the  historian.  She  dis 
carded  me — that 's  all..  She  had  the  greatest  affection  for 
me,  't  was  true,  she  said,  but  she  was  over  young  to  marry 
yet ;  she  'd  not  made  up  her  mind — it  was  unfair  in  me  to 
thus  make  her  feel  pain — she  would  always  love  me  as  her 
dear  cousin  and  playmate — then  she  raised  her  white  hand 
kerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  begged  me  to  reconduct  her  to 
the  house. 

"  I  did  so  in  silence,  and  then  discovered  that  I  had  im 
portant  business  here.  That 's  all. 

"  Well !  I  '11  neither  cut  my  throat,  nor  sit  do'.vn  and 
weep,  nor,  worst  of  all,  go  crouching  back  to  her,  like  a 
dog !  Henceforth  I  forswear  the  sex.  A  bachelor's  life 
for  me,  my  boy.  Come,  take  a  main  at  tric-trac  with  me, 
and  help  me  to  find  the  bottom  of  a  cask  of  Bordeaux  or 
Jamaica.  I  'm  moping,  you  see,  and  want  company. 

"  Your  friend, 

"HAKEY  ST.  JOHN/' 
9 


194  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

•   .         f 

THE     REPLY. 

"MoOREFiELD,  May  23,  1774, 

"  YOUR  letter  really  astonished  me,  my  dear  boy — it  did, 
upon  my  word.  You  will  permit  me  to  observe  that  you 
are  really  the  most  unreasonable  and  exacting  of  all  the 
lovers  that  I  've  read  of,  from  the  time  of  Achilles  to  the 
present  hour. 

"  And  so,  when  you  pointed  your  gun  at  the  tree,  the 
bird  did  not  flutter  down  and  light  on  your  shoulder  !  Or 
say  that  you  banged  away,  my  boy,  do  you  expect  such  a 
wild  little  thing  as  Miss  Bonnybel  to  sit  and  be  shot  at  by 
you  ?  You  discharge  your  fowling  piece,  and  before  the 
smoke  's  cleared  away,  walk  tranquilly  up  to  pick  up  the 
game ;  you  find  that  your  aim  was  bad,  and  there 's  no  bird 
on  the  ground,  and  you  scowl,  and  growl,  and  complain  of 
her  for  not  falling  ! 

"  '  My  son,'  I  would  say  to  you,  as  I  'm  told  the  great  King 
Solomon  did  on  one  occasion,  '  listen  to  the  words  of  the 
wise;  wisdom  is  the  principal  thing,'  he  adds,  'therefore 
get  wisdom,  and  with  all  thy  getting,  get  understanding.' 

"  Curious  and  complex,  O  my  beloved  friend,  is  the  heart 
of  woman.  Many  philosophers  have  written  concerning 
them,  but  they  are  hard  to  understand.  But  one  thing  I 
am  sure  of,  that  the  young  ladies  of  the  province  of  Vir 
ginia  object  to  falling  without  due  warning — subsiding,  hys 
terically,  into  the  embrace  of  any  young  man  who  is  good 
enough  to  hold  out  his  arms.  And  you  will  pardon  my  de 
claring  my  opinion  that  it  is  reasonable  ;  were  I  a  woman, 
as  that  engaging  young  lady,  Miss  Tracy,  says  I  am  already, 
I  'd  demand  a  siege  of  a  decade !  'T  is  true  I  should  be 
verging  toward  forty  by  that  time,  but  I  'd  possess  the  in 
estimable  satisfaction  of  reflecting  that  I  'd  passed  my  life  in 
worrying  a  young  man. 

"  You  dissent,  perhaps,  from  my  views,  but,  honestly  now, 


HENEY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  195 

do  you  think  you  gave  Miss  Bonnybel '  sufficient  notice'  of 
the  intended  movement  in  your 'suit?'  'Tis  a  charming 
damsel  (though  of  course  much  less  so  than  a  certain  per 
son),  and  I  fancy  she  resents  your  cavalier  assault,  your  fe 
rocious  charge,  as  though  your  banner  were  inscribed,  '  Mar 
riage  or  instant  death  !  ! !'  And  then  you  go  on  to  complain 
of  her  bright  eyes,  of  her  chance-uttered  words  and  jests. 
Really,  my  dear  Harry,  you  are  a  perfect  ogre.  You  can't 
let  a  maiden  display  her  liking,  and  smile,  and  look  attract 
ive,  and  please  you !  Suppose  all  the  world  was  of  your 
way  of  thinking !  What  a  dull,  stiff,  artificial  world  it 
would  be.  Just  think,  my  dear  fellow,  of  the  awful  result. 
No  laughter,  no  ogling,  no  flirting  any  more !  The  true 
joy  of  our  existence  would  disappear,  the  girls  would  be 
lifeless  statues.  You  may  fancy  a  statue  of  marble  for  your 
spouse,  but  I  'd  rather  have  a  nice  young  woman  of  the  real 
world,  with  her  dangerous  smiles,  and  head  bent  sidewise ! 
Do  you  say  that  a  friend  of  mine  at  Vanely  is  not  such  as 
this  ?  I  can  only  reply  that  my  tastes  were  not  formed 
when  I  met  her.  I  adore  her,  't  is  true,  but  logically  speak 
ing,  I  'm  wrong. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  some  day,  your  bird  will  descend  ; 
shake  the  tree,  and  the  fruit  will  fall.  Imitate  an  unappre 
ciated  friend  of  yours,  and  still  continue  the  shaking.* 

"  As  to  misery  and  moping,  and  anger,  and  all  that,  't  is 
natural  but  very  irrational ;  't  is  unpleasant,  and  does  no 
good.  Go  back  to  Vanely  and  renew  your  attack — love  the 
damsel  so  much  that  her  pride  may  be  flattered.  My  friend, 
there  is  nothing  like  perseverance.  Go  court  your  inamo 
rata  more  ardently  than  ever,  and  if,  meanwhile,  you  do  n't 
meet  a  girl  you  love  more,  I  '11  lay  you  ten  to  one  that  you 
get  her ! 

"  These  few  words,  Harry  my  boy,  must  suffice.  I  can't 
come  to  see  you ;  I  am  busy  at  home.  But  we  '11  meet  at 
the  assembly,  in  town.  You  say  that  the  young  lady  put 

*  On  the  margin,  we  find  in  his,  St.  John's,  hand- writing: 

"If  I  do,  I'll  be  hanged.    I  '11  tie  myself  to  no  woman's  apron-string  1" 


196  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes ;  well  I  predict  that  those  eyes 
Avill  shine  brightly  when  they  next  rest  on  you.  'T  is  always 
thus  when  the  April  shower  is  over. 

"  Your  friend — Heaven  grant,  your  brother — 

"ToM  ALSTON." 
"P.  S.— Get  wisdom." 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

BLOSSOM. 

THE  views  of  his  friend  had  little  effect  upon  St.  John. 
It  was  not  his  pride  which  was  so  deeply  wounded ;  it  was 
his  heart. 

His  letter  was  one  of  those  tissues  of  self-deception,  which 
are  woven  to  blind  their  eyes  by  the  most  clear  seeing.  He 
loved  the  girl  more  than  ever  when  he  found  her  beyond 
his  reach,  and  his  faint  flush  of  anger  gave  way  to  misery. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  this  sentiment  also  yield 
ed.  The  first  pangs  of  his  disappointment  gradually  became 
less  poignant.  He  coolly  set  about  seeing  to  his  neglected 
affairs  on  the  estate,  and  having  attended  to  every  thing, 
and  wound  up  the  machine,  cast  about  him  for  some  occu 
pation  to  divert  his  thoughts. 

"  I  '11  go  to  town,"  he  said,  with  a  sardonic  smile  ;  "I  '11 
go  give  his  Excellency  a  chance  to  arrest  me!  What  an 
admirable  scene  will  be  enacted  if  he  tries  it ;  perhaps  the 
cause  will  be  affected  by  my  act,  and  historians  will  put 
my  name  in  their  books !" 

The  real  object  of  the  young  man  was  to  divert  his  mind 
from  thought,  and  he  had  no  sooner  conceived  his  plan  than 
he  proceeded  to  execute  it. 

Mounting  "  Tallyho,"  he  rode  to  the  nearest  ferry,  crossed 
the  river,  and  approached  the  capital  as  the  sun  was  set 
ting.  He  went  along  carelessly  through  the  forest  illumined 


HENEY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  197 

by  the  orange  light,  and  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  gave 
"free  rein  to  his  thoughts.  He  did  not  observe  that  his  horse 
had  taken  a  wrong  turn  in  the  road,  and  was  aroused  from 
his  abstraction  suddenly  by  a  voice.  This  voice,  which  seemed 
that  of  a  child,  said, 

"  Won't  you  stop  a  minute,  sir  ?  I  'm  very  glad  to  see 
you !" 

In  the  little  maiden  who  spoke,  he  recognized  Blossom, 
and  she  stood  at  the  gate  of  the  small  cottage,  which  smiled 
on  him,  embowered  in  foliage  and  flowers. 

"  Will  I  stop  ?  Why  with  pleasure,  my  little  spring  blos 
som  ;"  replied  the  young  man,  pleased  with  the  fair  face;  "  I 
am  not  the  least  in  a  hurry,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in 
turn." 

With  these  words  he  dismounted,  and  securing  Tallyho, 
shook  hands  with  Blossom,  and  followed  her  to  the  trellised 
porch. 

"  My  dear,  you  are  the  very  image  of  your  namesakes," 
he  said,  caressing  the  child's  hair ;  "  where  did  you  get  such 
roses?" 

Blossom  took  a  cluster  of  buds  from  her  bosom,  and 
said — 

"  They  are  from  the  flower-bed  yonder,  sir." 

St.  John  smiled. 

"I  mean  the  roses  in  your  cheeks,  my  dear;  they  are 
prettier  than  the  others." 

"  Oh  it 's  nothing  but  running  about  playing,"  said  Blos 
som,  blushing,  "  I  run  sometimes  as  far  as  town,  sir,  you 
know — as  I  did  that  day — " 

"When  my  horse  nearly  killed  you — yes,"  said  St.  John ; 
"  well  he  '11  never  do  so  any  more.  I  saw  our  friend,  the 
Governor,  the  other  day,  and  I  'm  happy  to  say  for  the  last 
time  as  his  servant." 

"  Oh !  I  hope  you  did  not  quarrel,  sir !  he 's  a  dreadful 
man !" 

"  Quarrel  ?"  said  St.  John,  with  his  sardonic  smile,  "  what 
ptit  such  a  thought  in  your  head  ?  Why  his  Excellency  and 


198  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

myself  fairly  dote  upon  each  other,  and  the  room  was  full 
of  the  first  gentlemen  of  the  colony,  invited  to  attend  and 
meet  me  !  His  lordship  talked  more  with  me  than  with  any 
one  else,  and  when  I  went  away,  called  a  soldier  to  escort 
me!" 

Having  made  this  elaborate  jest,  St.  John  smiled  on  Blos 
som. 

"  Oh !  I  'm  very,  veiy  glad  that  you  did  n't  quarrel !"  she 
said,  "  he  's  so  fierce  looking,  and  spoke  so  cruelly  of  papa." 

"Of  your  father?  Oh  yes,  I  remember — where  is  he, 
Blossom  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  know,  sir." 

"Ah?" 

"  I  never  know  where  papa  goes,  sir,"  she  said,  simply,  "  I 
believe  he  has  a  great  deal  to  do." 

As  she  spoke  horse's  feet  were  heard,  and  Blossom  jumped 
up  crying, 

"  Oh  there  he  is,  sir  !» 

At  the  same  moment  a  gentleman  entered  the  gate. 

In  the  father  of  the  child  whom  he  had  so  nearly  crushed 
beneath  the  hoofs  of  his  horse,  St.  John  recognized  the 
stranger  of  the  old  church  at  Richmond. 


CHAPTEE  XXXVII. 

THE      WOOF      OF      EVENTS. 

THE  stranger  was  clad  in  black,  as  formerly,  and  his  face 
wore  the  same  expression  of  iron  calmness.  His  penetrat 
ing  eyes  were  full  of  collected  strength,  and  when  he  greet 
ed  St.  John  in  his  deep  and  resounding  voice,  the  young 
man  felt  again  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  remarkable 
individual. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,  Mr.  St.  John,"  said  the 
stranger,  with  an  iron-like  grasp  of  the  slender  white  hand. 


HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  199 

"  I  believe  I  need  not  introduce  myself — as  my  child  has 
told  you  my  name." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Waters,":  returned  St.  John,  "  and  we  can  not 
meet  as  strangers.  'T  is  true,  I  come  ill  recommended,  since 
my  horse  nearly  killed  your  child." 

The  stranger  made  a  movement  with  his  hand. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  that,"  he  said,  "  't  was  no  fault  of  yours. 
The  real  offender  was  Dunmore,  and  I  congratulate  you  on 
leaving  his  service." 

"  You  have  heard,  then,  of  my  resignation  ?" 

"  Assuredly.  I  have  even  heard  every  particular  of  the 
interview  at  the  palace.  I  knew  all,  half  an  hour  after  it 
occurred." 

"Pray  how  was  that  possible?" 

"  In  the  simplest  way — the  society  I  represent  has  friends 
everywhere." 

"  You  seem  to  know  every  thing.  Did  you  recognize  me 
yonder  in  the  old  church  of  Richmond  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  sir ;  how  could  I  fail  to  ?  You  have  been 
for  some  time  a  public  character,  and  I  knew  perfectly  your 
opinions  before  I  spoke.  If  in  what  I  said,  I  was  carried 
away  by  a  rush  of  bitter  memories  into  egotism,  you  will 
not  think  harshly  of  it,  and  will  pardon  me — will  you  not, 
sir  ?" 

There  was  so  much  simplicity  and  nobility  in  the  air  of 
the  speaker  that  St.  John,  unconsciously,  held  out  his  hand. 

"  You  did  me  an  honor,  sir,"  he  said,  "  in  confiding  your 
misfortunes  to  me.  I  trust  we  shall  be  friends." 

"  We  are  such  already,  I  am  sure,"  said  his  companion ; 
"  your  words  in  the  old  church  yonder  stirred  my  pulses,  and 
your  reply  to  the  insults  of  Dunmore,  in  his  palace,  was  the 
reply  of  a  fearless  patriot  and  gentleman." 

St.  John  bowed  low. 

"  Thanks !"  he  said,  "  but  I  merely  defended  myself.  Was 
any  action  taken  in  regard  to  my  humble  self?" 

"  None.  Dunmore  and  Captain  Foy  had  more  critical 
business.  Do  you  know  what  they  were  doing,  and  are  do- 


200  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

ing  now  ?  They  are  devising  a  plan  to  embroil  the  people 
of  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia  on  the  subject  of  the  bound 
ary  line,  and  further,  to  invite  the  savages  to  invade  the 
western  frontier  of  the  province." 

"  Impossible !" 

"  So  it  is,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  the  agent  of  these  traitor 
ous  schemes  to  crush  Virginia  in  the  coming  revolution  is  a 
man  named  Conolly,  commandant  at  Fort  Pitt ;  he  is  now 
in  Williamsburg  awaiting  instructions.  Those  instructions 
were  being  drawn  up  in  cipher  by  Foy,  without  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  council,  on  the  day  you  appeared  before  the 
Governor." 

St.  John's  head  fell,  and  his  brows  contracted. 

"Why  'tis  nothing  less  than  treachery — blood — mur 
der  !"  he  said. 

"  Precisely  that,"  said  the  stranger,  coolly. 

"  And  I !  am  I  forgotten  ?» 

"As  yet  nothing  has  been  done;  a  new  lieutenant  has 
been  appointed ;  the  matter  waits.  But  I  advise  you  to  lie 
down  armed.  I  am  a  peaceful  man,  but  I  rarely  move  un 
prepared.  I  would  advise  you  to  do  the  same." 

A  careless  movement  of  the  stranger's  hand  threw  open 
the  breast  of  his  doublet.  From  a  side  pocket  protruded 
the  dark  handles  of  a  brace  of  pistols. 

"  Events  ripen,"  he  continued,  "  and  the  times  grow  dan 
gerous.  This  very  day,  sir,  a  great  movement  has  been  made. 
The  Burgesses  have  resolved  that  the  Boston  Port  bill  is 
dangerous  to  liberty — the  dispatch  of  troops  thither  an  act 
of  oppression.  The  first  of  June  is  appointed  as  a  day  of 
fasting,  humiliation  and  prayer ;  to  implore  divine  Provi 
dence  to  give  them  courage  and  heart  to  oppose  this  inva 
sion  of  Right.  In  accordance  with  this  act,  it  was  further 
resolved  this  morning  that  the  Burgesses,  on  the  day  ap 
pointed,  will  proceed  with  the  speaker  and  the  mace  to 
church,  there  to  pray  for  the  cause  of  America.  Such  are 
the  resolves,  and  they  will  answer  the  purpose." 

"  The  purpose  ?" 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  201 

"  To  force  the  Governor  to  dissolve  them." 

"  Do  you  think  he  will  ?" 

"  To-rnorrow." 

"Ah!  and  then?" 

"  The  rest  is  arranged — prepared." 

"  Can  you  speak  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  you,  friend.  We  are  alone  here,  and  I  know 
whom  I  address.  The  House  of  Burgesses  will  be  dissolved 
to-morrow.  The  members  will,  on  the  next  morning,  meet 
in  the  Raleigh  tavern,  and  eighty-five,  perhaps  eighty-nine, 
of  them,  will  unite  in  an  association  to  arouse  the  colonies, 
through  a  committee  of  correspondence,  to  a  general  con 
gress,  binding  themselves  to  use  nothing  from  the  docks  of 
the  East  India  Company.  They  will  then  leave  Williamsburg. 
They  will  every  one  be  reflected  by  the  people.  They  will 
meet  here  again  on  the  first  day  of  August,  and  their  work 
then  will  be  to  cement  the  disjointed  resistance  North  and 
South,  and  appoint  deputies  to  the  general  congress.  That 
congress  will  meet,  probably,  in  Philadelphia,  and  much  will 
depend  upon  its  proceedings." 

"  The  Governor  will  dissolve  the  Burgesses  to-morrow  ?" 

"Yes,  at  three  in  the  afternoon  he  will  summon  them 
before  him,  as  though  he  were  majesty  itself,  and  then  he 
will  dismiss  the  chivalry  and  wisdom  of  this  land  like  diso 
bedient  school-boys.  Would  you  see  the  proceeding  ?  I  will 
meet  you  at  the  door  of  the  capitol." 

St.  John  was  silent,  only  assenting  with  a  thoughtful 
movement  of  his  head. 

"  Your  long  labor  is  then  beginning  to  produce  results?" 
he  said,  looking  at  his  companion. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  yet  not  mine  alone.  I  am 
but  a  poor  soldier  in  a  noble  army ;  an  army  of  strong 
arms  and  great  hearts,  which  advances  under  the  leader 
ship  of  the  Almighty,  who  directs  and  guides  its  onward 
march." 

As  the  stranger  spoke,  his  companion  again  observed 
that  look  which  had  formerly  attracted  his  attention, 


202  HENBY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

— the  expression  of  an  intellectual  fanatic  who  has  but  one 
idea,  and  is  bent  and  swayed  by  a  pursuit  which  is  his  life 
blood. 

"  What  we  have  just  been  discussing,"  he  said,  "  these 
resolutions,  and  debates,  and  associations,  these  are  are  but 
the  husks  of  ideas,  the  shells  in  which  principles  are  wrapped, 
the  costume  and  material  frame.  There  is  beneath  all  this, 
the  heart  and  the  soxil,  the  vital  idea,  which  must  clothe  it 
self  thus  for  action.  To  read  the  annals  of  history,  without 
eternally  keeping  in  view  the  existence  and  superintendence 
of  that  Almighty  Being,  under  whose  breath  we  move,  is  to 
paralyze  the  mind  with  a  chaos  of  unmeaning  and  discordant 
elements,  a  jumble  of  effects  without  causes.  The  voice 
of  God  resounds  to  my  ears  through  the  long  galleries  of 
history,  and  I  see  His  footprints  on  the  soil  of  every  land. 
It  is  that  great  Being  who  shapes,  in  silence  and  darkness, 
the  far-off  result,  who  strikes,  when  he  is  ready,  with  his 
thunderbolts.  It  is  not  from  a  clear  sky  that  these  thunder 
bolts  fall ;  it  is  only  when  the  atmosphere  is  prepared  that 
he  unharnesses  his  lightnings.  It  is  only  when  the  political 
atmosphere  has  reached  the  requisite  state  that  he  lets  loose 
the  thunderbolts  of  revolution. 

"  I  wish  to  say,"  continued  the  stranger,  with  his  far-away 
look,  "  that  under  all  these  resolutions  and  business  details, 
these  husks  and  shells,  is  the  living  and  vital  idea,  the  on 
ward  march  of  man.  Every  word  and  phrase  in  these  pa 
pers  we  have  referred  to,  embodies  a  thought  crammed  with 
significance  ;  every  new  expression,  growing  bolder  and 
bolder,  is  like  the  increase  in  the  height  of  the  waves  when 
the  storm  sweeps  onward.  From  the  year  '65  to  the  pres 
ent  hour,  I  have  looked  with  awe  and  wonder  upon  the 
gradually  unfolding  intent  of  the  Deity.  I  have  seen  this 
land  advance  toward  a  new  and  splendid  existence,  as  a 
ship  is  impelled  by  the  breath  of  the  hurricane.  I  have 
seen  the  great  multitude  advance,  step  by  step,  pushed  on 
ward  by  an  invisible  hand  toward  the  bloody  gates  of  revo 
lution,  through  which,  and  which  alone,  shall  we  enter  on 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  203 

the  promised  land  of  liberty.  We  spoke,  yonder,  of  this, 
and  I  then  said  that  I  thought  I  saw  how  to  each  one  his 
part  was  assigned.  To  Patrick  Henry,  that  soul  of  fire,  and 
prophet  of  liberty,  was  assigned  the  duty  of  putting  the 
huge  ball  in  motion.  He  was  raised  up  at  the  crisis  and  did 
the  work  which  the  Deity  assigned  to  him ;  he  struck,  as  it 
were,  with  the  flat  of  his  sword,  and  aroused  the  whole 
land  to  indignation.  In  his  fiery  and  burning  periods,  in  his 
immense  denunciations,  the  oppressions  of  England  shone 
forth  in  all  their  deformity.  He  did  no  half  work  ;  beneath 
his  gigantic  shoulder,  the  ball  of  revolution  began  to  move.* 
But  the  immense  mass  must  move  in  its  appointed  way; 
it  must  not  roll  at  random  ;  its  course  must  be  fixed.  And 
to  fix  this  course,  to  define  the  revolution,  its  track  and  its 
aims,  to  the  public  opinion  of  Europe  and  America,  Thomas 
Jefferson  appeared,  a  man  who  has  just  begun  his  career,  but 
whose  genius  for  overturning  is  immense.  See  here,  too, 
the  hand  of  the  Deity  ;  see  this  wonder  and  mystery  of  his 
decrees.  This  man,  thus  raised  up  to  fulfill  the  divine  pur 
pose,  is  an  infidel,  has  no  particle  of  reverence  ;  for  him, 
Christ  is  but  a  name.  The  Almighty  has  removed  the 
faculty  of  reverence  completely  from  his  intellect,  and  he 
advances  over  thrones  and  systems,  through  prejudice  and 
prestige,  with  a  fatal,  a  mathematical  precision.  He  carries 
out  his  premises  to  the  bounds  of  and  beyond  pure  treason  ; 
like  a  machine,  his  splendid  intellect  does  not  stop  to  reflect, 
but  accomplishes  its  work  without  pausing.  Well,  sir,  see 
how,  in  these  two  men,  who  utter  and  define  the  revolution 
— see  how  God  has  raised  up,  at  the  appointed  time,  the  in 
struments  with  which  he  designs  to  produce  his  results.  I 
said,  up  yonder,  and  I  repeat,  that  the  military  leader  will 
appear  in  good  time ;  I  doubt  it  not  at  all — I  expect  with 
out  impatience — I  calmly  await  the  appointed  moment. 
Who  knows  what  the  hand  of  God  has  been  doing  ?  Per 
haps,  as  we  have  passed  our  serene  existence  here  in  the 
midst  of  civilization,  and  surrounded  by  comforts — perhaps 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  2STo.  XVI. 


204  HENRY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

some  lonely  youth,  in  the  wilds  of  the  forest,  fording  great 
rivers,  and  ascending  vast  mountains,  has  been  trained  in 
peril,  and  suffering,'  and  hardship,  for  the  leadership  of  lib 
erty.  Perhaps,  as  we  speak,  this  man  is  ready  to  appear ; 
let  us  wait,  let  us  trust  in  God. 

"  But  I  weary  you,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I  forget  that  the 
philosophy  of  history,  as  the  schoolmen  say,  may  not  in 
terest  you  as  it  does  myself.  What  my  brief  and  awkward 
train  of  thought  would  utter  is  this,  and  this  alone :  that 
for  ten  years  these  colonies  have  been  slowly  advancing,  led 
by  the  Almighty,  as  he  led  the  Israelites  of  old,  to  a  point 
from  which  they  can  not  recede,  where  they  can  not  stand 
still,  when,  consequently,  they  must  press  onward,  even 
though  it  be  through  the  Red  Sea  of  revolution  and  blood. 
The  seeds  of  liberty  were  sown  in  the  opposition  to  the 
Stamp  Act ;  they  have  sprung  up  and  spread  into  a  tree, 
whose  iron  grain  will  blunt  the  sharpest  battle-ax.  In  '65, 
the  alarm  was  sounded  by  the  voice  of  Patrick  Henry,  and 
reverberating  from  cliff  to  cliff,  it  will  mingle,  in  '75,  with 
the  roar  of  cannon,  the  trumpet  blast  of  battle !  Do  not  mis 
take  or  misunderstand,  I  beseech  you !"  said  the  stranger, 
with  his  dazzling  and  fiery  glance.  "Revolution  is  logical, 
mathematical,  but  it  is  the  logic,  the  mathematics  of  God ! 
It  is  God,  sir,  who  directs  us  poor  puppets  beneath  him  ;  it 
is  God  who  has  made  all  things  work  together  harmoniously 
to  this  splendid  result ;  it  is  God  who,  having  aroused  our 
minds,  and  strengthened  our  souls,  will  also  give  us  victory 
in  the  struggle.  For  my  part  I  do  not  fear  the  result ;  I 
look  forward,  I  pray,  I  wait !" 

The  stranger  was  silent,  and  for  some  time  nothing  dis 
turbed  .the  stillness.  At  last  Blossom  stole  out,  thinking 
the  conversation  was  over,  and  came  to  her  father. 

The  gloomy  and  wistful  eyes  grew  clear,  the  lips  relaxed 
from  their  compressed  expression,  and  a  sad  smile  played 
over  the  stranger's  face. 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  better  to  listen  to  the  heart,"  he 
said,  "  and  happy  is  the  man  who  does  not  feel  compelled  to 


HENRY    ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  205 

espouse  the  cause  of  his  species.  Poor  intellect  which  has 
not  a  heart !" 

And  with  a  sad  and  wistful  look,  the  stranger  passed  his 
white  hand  over  the  child's  bright  curls. 

Blossom  took  the  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  at  the 
moment  when  Mr.  St.  John  rose  to  depart. 

To  the  stranger's  courteous  invitation  to  remain,  he  urged 
business  in  town,  and  so  they  separated,  appointing  to  meet 
at  the  capitol. 

Blossom,  too,  had  her  little  speech,  which  was  a  request 
that  her  friend  would  please  come  again,  and  this  promise 
being  given,  the  young  man  set  forward  to  Williamsburg 
again  as  the  night  fell. 

A  singular  idea  occurred  to  him  as  he  rode  onward. 

The  man  whom  he  had  just  left,  with  every  thing  which 
surrounded  him,  seemed  a  living  protest  against  the  old 
world  and  the  past.  The  cottage,  with  its  low  roof,  hid 
den  in  the  wood,  from  which  issued  a  man  whose  spirit 
aroused  revolution,  was  the  direct  antagonist  of  kings'  pal 
aces  and  courts.  As  the  palace,  and  the  king  in  his  royal 
trappings,  were  the  incarnation  of  privilege  and  prerogative, 
and  superstition,  so  the  cottage  in  the  wild  forest,  and  the 
plain  man  in  black,  were  the  representatives  of  liberty,  dis- 
enthrallment — of  that  freedom  of  thought  and  soul  which 
the  new  world  must  inaugurate. 

The  child  before  him,  young,  weak,  and  so  nearly  crushed 
to  death  beneath  the  hoofs  of  his  horse,  was  the  type  of  Vir 
ginia,  which  the  legions  of  Great  Britain  would  soon  strive 
to  trample  down ! 

He  reached  "Williamsburg  and  his  lodgings  before  he  was 
aware  of  it.  Wearied  with  the  long  ride  from  "Flower  of 
Hundreds,"  he  was  soon  asleep. 


206  HENKY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THB  FIXED  STABS   OF  VIRGINIA. 

ST.  JOHN  was  awakened  by  the  sunbeams  falling  on  his 
forehead. 

It  was  the  26th  of  May,  1774,  a  day  memorable  in  the 
annals  of  Virginia. 

As  though  to  cheer  and  embolden  the  hearts  of  patriots, 
the  great  orb  of  day  rose  clear  and  brilliant,  and  mounted 
to  his  noon  unobscured  by  clouds,  as  on  that  occasion  in  the 
old  church  of  St.  John,  when  the  stranger  had  pointed  to 
it,  soaring  above  the  retreating  thunder  storm,  and  called  it 
"  the  Sun  of  America." 

At  an  early  hour,  the  entire  capital  was  in  commotion,  for 
the  news  had  gotten  abroad  that  on  this  day  Lord  Dunmore 
would  dissolve  the  Assembly.  The  crowd  continued  to  in 
crease  throughout  the  morning,  and  at  three  in  the  after 
noon,  it  poured  in  one  living  mass  toward  the  capitol,  in 
front  of  whose  wide  portico  the  statue  of  the  good  Lord 
Botetourt  looked  down  with  calm  serenity  upon  the  multi 
tude. 

But  since  the  days  of  that  honest  nobleman,  men  and 
events,  unhappily,  have  changed.  Other  times  have  come, 
and  another  Governor  rules  in  the  chair  of  Norborne  Berke 
ley. 

Lord  Botetourt,  it  is  true,  had  also  dissolved  the  Bur 
gesses,  but  sadly,  sorrowfully,  with  the  reluctance  of  a  man 
who  acknowledges  in  his  heart  the  justice  of  a  protest,  but 
is  forced,  by  his  sworn  duty,  to  oppose  himself  to  the  pro- 
testants.  The  worthy  nobleman  loved  Virginia  and  the  Vir 
ginians,  and  many  persons  said  that  the  oppressions  of  the 
ministry  had  hastened  his  death.  However  that  may  be, 
one  thing  is  certain,  that  soon  after  his  dissolution  of  the 
Burgesses,  this  statue  of  him  was  commanded  by  that  body ; 
and  having  been  duly  erected  before  the  capitol,  to  be  re- 


HEISTKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  207 

moved  afterwards  to  the  college  grounds,  where  it  may  now 
be  seen,  the  marble  image  of  the  good  nobleman,  on  this 
May  day  of '74,  looked  tranquilly  upon  the  masses  ruled  now 
by Dunmore. 

Let  history,  with  her  inexorable  justice,  her  cold  stylus, 
fill  the  space  left  blank  before  the  name.  The  present 
writer  disdains  to  attempt  the  task,  leaving  to  others  the 
duty  of  depicting  one  who  united  in  his  character  the  most 
perfect  treachery,  the  utmost  cowardice,  and  the  most  con 
sistent  and  harmonious  meanness. 

But  let  us  follow  St.  John. 

The  whole  population,  as  we  have  said,  flowed  toward  the 
old  capitol,  along  Gloucester  street,  as,  on  the  day  of  Lady 
Dunmore's  entry,  in  an  opposite  direction  toward  the  pal 
ace.  But  now  it  seemed  agitated  by  far  different  emotions. 
Then  it  had  shouted  and  laughed,  now  it  was  silent  and 
frowned.  Then  it  saw  a  cavalcade,  brilliant  with  the  bright 
eyes  and  smiling  faces  of  a  good  woman  and  her  beautiful 
daughters,  and  it  smiled  gladly  in  return.  Now  it  was 
about  to  behold  the  haughty  progress  of  a  bad  man,  with 
a  scowling  face,  surrounded  by  his  mercenary  attendants. 
And  the  people  scowled  honestly  back  in  advance,  and 
looked  sidewise,  with  a  threatening  air,  at  the  guards  when 
they  appeared. 

St.  John  was  carried  onward  by  the  crowd  to  the  base  of 
Lord  Botetourt's  statue,  where  the  waves  of  the  multitude 
were  divided,  and  flowed  right  and  left. 

It  was  with  immense  difficulty  that  he  succeeded  in  el 
bowing  his  way  up  to  the  portico.  At  last,  however,  he  at 
tained  his  position,  and  then  his  glance  surveyed  the  long 
street,  with  its  undulating  and  imposing  occupants,  its  old 
men  with  gray  beards,  and  maidens  in  picturesque  dresses, 
and  curiously  peering  children,  lost  like  flowers  in  the  waves. 

He  was  still  absorbed  in  this  scrutiny  when  he  felt  a  hand 
on  his  arm,  and  a  calm  voice  said, 

"An  interesting  spectacle,  friend;  the  curiosity  of  the 
multitude  seems  general." 


208  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

He  turned,  and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the  strang 
er,  who  added  with  a  grave  inclination,  as  he  leaned  against 
a  pillar,  and  thoughtfully  surveyed  the  ci-owd, 

"  We  are  punctual  to  our  appointment,  Mr.  St.  John  ;  I 
have  been  awaiting  you,  however,  as  the  Burgesses  are 
awaiting  the  Governor." 

St.  John  pressed  the  extended  hand,  and  said, 

"I  should  like  to  look  at  the  House.  Will  we  have  time 
before  the  Governor  arrives  ?" 

"  He  will  not  come  for  twenty  minutes." 

"  Well  then  let  us  go  into  the  gallery,  and  you  shall  point 
out  to  me  some  of  the  leaders." 

"  Willingly." 

And  in  a  moment  they  were  in  the  gallery  of  the  Bur 
gesses. 

The  speaker  sat  opposite  in  a  tall  chair,  clearly  relieved 
against  a  red  curtain,  held  aloft  by  an  ornamental  rod.* 
Beneath,  sat  the  clerk  of  the  House,  behind  his  table  littered 
with  bills;  before  him  on  the  table  lay  the  great  mace, 
which  signified  that  the  body  was  in  full  session.  When 
they  sat  in  Committee  of  the  Whole,  it  was  laid  under  the 
table. 

The  members  were  scattered  throughout  the  hall,  talking 
earnestly  in  groups,  and  scarcely  heeding  the  hammer  and 
cry  of  "  Order,  gentlemen !" 

"Strange  to  say  I  have  not  before  visited  the  present 
House,"  said  St.  John ;  "  't  is  my  loss,  for  they  have  a  most 
imposing  air." 

"  It  is  the  reflex  of  their  mental  characteristics,"  said  the 
stranger.  "  The  body  before  you,  friend,  contains  the  great 
leaders  of  Virginia — the  burning  and  shining  lights  of  the 
coming  storm.  Look,  there,  in  front  of  the  speaker.  Do 
you  know  the  member  in  the  peach-blossom  coat,  with  the 
tie-wig  and  the  worn  red  cloak  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  him  pass  on  the  street  I  think :  yes,  one  day, 
talking  with  Mr.  Carrington."f 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XVII.  f  Ibid-.  No-  XVIII. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  209 

"That  is  Patrick  Henry,"  continued  the  stranger,  "the 
prophet  and  king  of  the  revolution  that  comes  onward,  the 
torch  which  illumines  the  way.  He  was  born  in  Hanover, 
among  the  slashes,  and  after  a  youth  spent  in  idleness, 
studied  law,  and  appeared  in  the  '  Parsons'  cause.'  The  rest 
of  his  career  you  are  familiar  with.  The  burning  eloquence 
which  drove  the  clergy  in  despair  from  their  seats  in  the 
court  house,  soared  to  heaven  like  a  flame  of  fire  in  the  days 
of  the  Stamp  Act  agitation,  in  '65.  At  this  moment,  that 
awkward-looking  man,  with  the  listless  air  and  the  stooping 
shoulders,  is  the  grandest  orator  on  the  continent  of  Amer 
ica,  and  none  in  the  old  world  compare  with  him.  Heaven 
sends  but  one  such  man  in  a  thousand  years.  It  sent  De 
mosthenes,  and  now  it  sends  this  greater  than  Demosthenes. 
Sir,  I  weary  you,  but  this  man,  the  very  sight  of  him,  arouses 
me.  He  will  rule  and  sway,  in  right  of  his  genius,  the  storm 
which  is  rushing  downward  !" 

St.  John  looked  at  the  ungainly  figure,  and  could  not  re 
alize  the  truth  of  what  he  heard.  It  was  simply  a  slouching 
county  court  lawyer  that  he  saw. 

"  I  see  that  you  think  I  am  enthusiastic,"  said  the  strang 
er  ;  "  you  think  that  this  man  in  the  old  worn  coat — this 
man  of  the  people — is  unequal  to  the  task  I  describe.*  Hear 
him  speak,  and  your  doubt  will  disappear.  You  will  then 
see  him  rise  erect  like  a  giant,  you  will  see  the  lightning  of 
such  glances  as  you  never  even  dreamed  of,  hear  the  thun 
der  of  an  oratory  which  will  shake  the  throne  of  England, 
and  reverberate  through  the  history  of  this  continent  !f 
Enough !  the  event  will  show." 

The  stranger  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  turning  his 
eyes  from  Henry,  continued, 

"  Those  two  gentlemen  in  front  of  the  speaker  must  be 
known  to  you.  The  one  whose  tall  figure  is  bowed  by  the 
weight  of  seventy  years,  with  the  deep  blue  eyes  protected 
by  a  green  shade — that  is  Colonel  Richard  Bland,  of  '  Jor 
dan's,'  in  Prince  George,  the  author  of  the  letter  on  the 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XIX.  f  Ibid.,  No.  XX. 


210  HENRY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

'Twopenny  Act,'  of  the  tract  on  the  'American  Episco 
pate  ;'  above  all,  of  the  '  Inquiry  into  the  Rights  of  the 
American  Colonies,'  whose  logic  advances  with  the  resound 
ing  roll  of  an  avalanche.  He  is  descended  from  Giles  Bland, 
who  fought  with  Bacon — is  called,  for  his  great  acquisitions, 
'  The  Antiquary  of  Virginia,' — at  seventy,  and  when  almost 
blind,  he  still  puts  on  the  old  harness  in  the  service  of  his 
countrymen."* 

"  I  know  Colonel  Bland,"  said  St.  John,  "  and  his  com" 
panion — " 

"  Is  Mr.  George  Wythe,  one  of  the  most  learned  gentle 
men  of  the  province.  His  mother  taught  him  Latin  and 
Greek  in  his  childhood.  He  drew  the  celebrated  memorial 
to  the  Commons  in  '64 ;  he  is  second  to  no  one  in  patriot 
ism.  But  these  men  are  but  units  in  a  noble  line.  See,  yon 
der,  Mr.  Thomas  Nelson,  from  the  town  of  York ;  see  his 
gentle  smile,  and  the  suavity  that  beams  in  his  features. 
He  is  capable  of  giving  his  time,  his  means,  his  very  life- 
blood  to  his  country.  And  there  beside  him  is  Mr.  Robert 
Carter  Nicholas — thin-featured,  growing  bald,  of  grave  bear 
ing  ;  he  is  a  sound  financier  and  far-seeing  statesman.  You 
know  the  tall  and  portly  gentleman  with  whom  he  converses. 
It  it  Mr.  Benjamin  Harrison,  of '  Berkeley,'  on  James  river. 
In  his  veins  flows  the  blood  of  Harrison  the  Regicide,  the 
man  who  was  prominent  in  condemning  Charles  I.  to  death. 
He  is  a  man  of  the  most  admirable  administrative  genius, 
of  a  patriotism  unsurpassed ;  his  courage  would  make  him 
smile  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows."f 

"Yes,"  said  St.  John,  "that  is  true,  every  word,  of 
Mr.  Harrison.  And  who  is  that  tall  youth  just  behind 
him  ?" 

"  With  the  slender  figure,  and  amiable  black  eyes  ?  That 
is  a  young  gentleman,  residing  in  Fauquier;  Mr.  John 
Marshall.  He  is  seeking,  I  believe,  for  a  commission  in  the 
service.''^ 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXI.  f  Ibid,  No.  XXII. 

%  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXIII. 


HENKT    ST.    JOHN",    GENTLEMAN.  211 

"  I  do  not  know  Mr.  Marshall,  but  his  face  is  attractive," 
returned  St.  John. 

"  But  you  doubtless  know  that  tall  gentleman  to  his  right. 
That  is  Mr.  Edmund  Pendleton  of  Caroline,  the  type  and 
representative  of  the  conservative  revolutionists — the  think 
ers  who  desire  to  advance,  logically,  and  in  well-ordered 
phalanx.  You  read  in  his  bearing,  in  his  very  countenance, 
the  character  of  the  man — the  man  whom  I  regard  as  equal 
ly  valuable  to  the  revolution  with  Mr.  Henry  and  Mr.  Jef 
ferson.  Mr.  Pendleton  is  profoundly  read  in  the  laws  bind 
ing  nations  and  individuals ;  his  conservative  genras  curbs 
the  fiery  and  rash  minds  of  the  passionate  reformers ;  his 
familiarity  with  forms  and  parliamentary  rules,  will  be  of 
indispensable  value  to  the  cause.  In  debate  he  is  wholly 
unsurpassed  by  any  man  in  North  America,  and  in  the 
fiercest  encounter  of  the  sharpest  weapons  't  is  impossible 
to  throw  him  off  his  guard.  His  noble  and  serene  bearing 
is  a  great  aid  to  his  oratory ;  his  suavity  and  grace  concili 
ate  the  rudest.  No  finer  type  exists  of  the  courtly  gentle 
man.  If  Henry  is  our  Demosthenes,  Pendleton  is  our  Cice 
ro  ;  his  silvery  voice  steals  away  your  reason."* 

"  Absolutely,"  said  St.  John.  "  Yes,  I  know  Mr.  Pendle 
ton  wery  well." 

"You  doubtless  know  also  the  group  who  are  talking 
yonder  earnestly  in  the  corner,"  continued  the  stranger. 
"  Do  you  see  the  tall  gentleman  who  thrusts  a  hand  covered 
with  ruffles  into  the  breast  of  his  blue,  gold-laced  waist 
coat  ;  him  of  the  broad  massive  brow,  the  dark  eyes,  full  of 
mingled  sadness  and  severity,  the  brown  cheek  and  the  lofty 
carriage  ?  That  is  Mr.  George  Mason  from  the  county  of 
Fail-fax,  but  not  a  member  of  the  present  Burgesses.  He  is 
a  man  of  the  profoundest  political  genius,  not  second  even 
to  Mr.  Jefferson.  A  statesman  of  the  very  first  rank,  deep 
ly  read  in  the  lore  of  charters  and  constitutions,  with  a  brain 
and  heart  beating  with  one  pulse  of  patriotism.  Should  a 
declaration  of  rights  be  thought  advisable  by  the  province 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXTY. 


212  HENBY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

— a  chart  to  steer  by  in  the  storm — it  is  to  this  man  that  I 
would  most  willingly  confide  the  task.  The  bill  of  rights 
which  he  would  frame  would  be  the  platform  of  liberty,  the 
embodiment  of  the  philosophy  of  honest  government,  the 
exposition  of  the  inalienable  rights  of  mankind."* 

"  'T  is  truly  an  admirable  head,"  said  St.  John.  "  I  did 
not  know  Mr.  Mason." 

"  The  small  gentleman,"  continued  the  stranger,  "  of  grace 
ful  feature  and  eyes  singularly  piercing,  is  Archibald  Gary,  of 
'  Ampthill,'  in  Chesterfield,  called  '  Old  Iron'  for  his  inflexi 
ble  courage,f  and  the  member  whom  he  addresses  is  Rich 
ard  Henry  Lee,  of '  Chantilly,'  in  Westmoreland,  called  'The 
Gentleman  of  the  Silver  Hand.'  Is  his  not  a  noble  head  ? 
The  type  of  the  Roman,  a  true  Scipio  Africanus,  inclining 
forward  with  lofty  grace,  as  though  he  were  listening  to  you 
with  his  best  courtesy.  'T  is  a  pity  that  an  accident  made 
the  black  bandage  on  his  left  hand  necessary ;  but  let  him 
once  speak  and  you  see  it  no  longer,  though  he  uses  it  in 
his  gestures ;  you  hear  only  his  swelling  and  magnificent 
periods  !J  Many  of  the  rest  you  doubtless  know.  Mr. 
Peyton  Randolph,  Mr.  Francis  Lightfoot  Lee,  Mr.  Ruther 
ford,  Mr.  Langhorne,  Mr.  Paul  Carrington,  Mr.  Lewis  Bur- 
well  of  Gloucester  county ;  and  yonder  you  see  Mr.  Thomas 
Jefferson." 

"Ah!  you  spoke  warmly  of  him,  sir,  when  we  talked," 
said  St.  John. 

"  Not  more  warmly  than  I  should  have  done,"  replied  the 
stranger.  "  See  the  pen  of  the  revolution  ;  you  have  looked 
at  Henry,  the  tongue.  You  may  discern  in  the  countenance 
of  this  gentleman,  too,  his  whole  character.  See  his  broad, 
swelling  forehead,  with  thin  sandy  hair ;  his  prominent  nose, 
thin  lips  and  resolute  chin  ;  see,  above  all,  his  piercing  and 
clear  eye.  It  is  the  face  of  a  man  with  a  genius  essentially 
political ;  a  mind  which  arrives,  with  a  single  bound,  at  con 
clusions  which  startle  the  boldest.  In  this  man,  as  in  Mr. 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXV.  f  Ibid.,  No.  XXVI. 

\  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXVII. 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  213 

George  Mason,  the  revolution  vindicates  itself  to  history ; 
the  true  representative  of  a  convulsed  epoch,  he  will  guide 
and  direct  great  events.  His  glance  of  lightning  has  already 
flashed  through  the  cobwebs  and  ruins  of  feudalism,  the 
trappings  of  royalty  and  nobility ;  he  believes  in  nothing, 
trusts  to  nothing,  accepts  nothing  which  is  not  clearly  proved 
by  the  doctrine  of  inalienable  right !  Before  the  fatal  ad 
vance  of  his  inexorable  logic,  royalty,  aristocracy  and  religi 
ous  intolerance  yield,  one  after  another,  and  are  overthrown. 
His  faults  are  those  of  a  genius  too  youthful  and  fiery; 
his  views  are  extreme,  and  need  the  mellowing  hand  of  time 
to  harmonize  them,  but  still  he  is  the  man  for  the  times,  the 
gladiator  for  the  present  arena !" 

As  the  stranger  uttered  these  words,  a  stifled  sound  from 
the  great  crowd  without  was  heard,  and  the  Burgesses  gath 
ered  in  more  earnest  groups  than  before. 

"  The  moment  has  come !"  said  the  stranger,  taking  St. 
John's  arm,  "let  us  go  look  on;  but  first,  see  that  great 
figure  which  has  risen  but  now,  the  man  who  stands  sur 
rounded  by  Henry,  Mason,  and  Nelson,  and  Jeflerson,  and 
young  Marshall,  who  is  as  tall  as  the  lofty  General  Lewis,  of 
Botetourt,  beside  him.  Ah !  I  see  you  know  him.  Yes, 
that  is  Colonel  George  Washington,  of  '  Mount  Vernon,'  in 
Fairfax.  He  sustained  the  whole  frontier  on  his  shoulders, 
fought  with  Braddock,  and  is  now  a  member  of  the  Bur 
gesses.  I  have  spoken  of  the  tongue  and  the  pen  of  the 
revolution,  friend.  If  Providence  so  wills  it,  see  the 
sword" 

And  without  further  words  the  stranger  led  the  way  from 
the  gallery.  In  a  moment  they  again  stood  on  the  portico 
of  the  capitol. 


214  HENKY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

HOW   THE   STRANGER'S   FIRST   PROPHECY   WAS    FULFILLED. 

THE  movement  and  murmur  in  the  crowd  had  been  caused 
by  the  approach  of  Lord  Dunmore. 

The  two  men  had  arrived  just  in  time. 

From  the  portico  upon  which  they  were  stationed,  above 
the  statue  of  Botetourt,  and  the  undulating  masses,  their 
glances  embraced  the  whole  spectacle. 

The  approach  of  his  Excellency  was  announced  by  a  hand- 
full  of  his  guards  who  rode  before,  royally,  to  clear  the  way. 
Then  a  larger  detachment  appeared  riding  abreast  in  front 
of  the  chariot,  the  plumes  of  a  troop  of  like  number  reveal 
ing  themselves  plainly  in  the  rear. 

At  the  head  of  the  troop  in  front  rode  a  tall  and  magnifi 
cently  accoutred  gentleman,  and  as  the  cavalcade  drew  on, 
St.  John  started  slightly. 

The  new  commander  of  his  Excellency's  guards  was  Mr. 
Lin  don. 

The  young  man's  lip  curled. 

"  Ah  well !"  he  said,  carelessly,  "  I  congratulate  his  Ex 
cellency  on  securing  such  a  fine  captain,  and  Mr.  Lindon  on 
entering  the  service  of  such  a  master.  They  '11  suit  each 
other  to  a  marvel." 

Having  thus  expressed  his  view  of  the  matter,  St.  John 
continued  to  gaze  at  the  procession  with  a  curling  lip  and  a 
sort  of  wonder,  as  he  thought  that,  but  a  short  time  before, 
Linden's  position  was  his  own. 

His  Excellency  drew  on. 

Having  a  profound  conviction  that  the  easiest  mode  of 
ruling  the  human  species,  was  to  awe  and  dazzle  them  in 
advance,  his  lordship  had  made  great  preparations  for  the 
present  ceremony,  and  in  the  programme,  so  to  speak,  had 
studied  to  imitate  the  royal  model. 

As  the  guards  sent  before  were  to  represent  those  troops 


HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAK.  215 

sent  in  advance  of  royalty  to  cry,  "  make  way !  make  way 
for  his  majesty!"  and  as  the  larger  detachments  were  to 
still  further  carry  out  the  idea  and  the  resemblance,  and 
awe  the  masses  into  terror  and  submission,  so,  in  the  selec 
tion  of  his  equipage  itself,  the  Governor  had  endeavored  to 
dazzle  the  eyes,  as  with  the  splendor  and  state  of  a  king. 

The  chariot  was  a  huge  affair,  covered  with  gilding,  and 
velvet,  and  damask  ;  a  dozen  footmen  in  liveries  seemed  to 
hang  behind  and  at  the  sides,  and  a  driver  with  a  hat  bound 
with  gold  lace,  looked  grandly  downward  on  the  heads  of 
the  common  people,  through  whom  he  urged  onward  his 
six  glossy  horses,  when  the  guards  allowed  the  mass  to 
close  in. 

His  Excellency  was  accompanied  only  by  Captain  Foy 
and  Lord  Fincastle,  the  secretary  or  captain,  as  the  reader 
pleases,  preserving  his  habitual  expression  of  serenity.  His 
dark  eyes  shining  from  his  pale  face,  quietly  surveyed  the 
crowd  with  a  species  of  philosophical  composure,  and  then 
were  again  lowered  thoughtfully. 

The  chariot  paused  before  the  front  of  the  capitol,  and 
the  Governor  issued  forth,  in  the  midst  of  a  profound 
silence. 

He  raised  his  head  haughtily,  as  a  king,  who  is  not  met 
with  the  shouts  and  acclamations  he  expects,  might  do,  and 
then,  taking  a  comprehensive  view  of  the  crowd,  ascended 
to  the  council  chamber,  followed  by  the  secretary  and  Lord 
Fincastle. 

"  Come,"  said  the  stranger  to  St.  John,  "  let  us  see  the 
rest ;  there  is  a  gallery  I  know  of  from  which  we  may  see 
all." 

And  with  a  rapid  step  he  led  the  way  up  a  narrow  and 
winding  stair,  and  with  a  key  which  he  took  from  his  pocket, 
opened  a  low  door  beneath  the  ceiling. 

From  behind  the  high  railing  of  the  small,  circular  gal- 
lery,  the  eyes  of  the  two  men  looked  into  the  council 
chamber. 

The  members  of  the  council,  who  ha'd  already  assembled, 


216  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

rose  upon  the  Governor's  entrance,  and  saluted  him — also, 
his  companions. 

Lord  Dunmore  then  took  his  seat  in  the  large  carved  chair 
of  red  damask,  at  the  end  of  the  council  table,  with  Lord 
Fincastle  and  Captain  Foy  at  his  side,  the  members  remain 
ing  in  their  former  seats. 

A  pause  of  some  moments  followed  the  arrangement  of 
every  one  in  his  place,  and  dimng  this  time  his  lordship's 
countenance  wore  an  expression  at  once  haughty  and  nerv 
ous,  disdainful  and  anxious. 

He  cleared  his  throat,  arranged  with  nervous  hands  some 
papers  before  him,  and  then,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
said, 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  council,  I  have  summoned  you  to  meet 
me  here  to-day  in  order  that  I  may  express  to  you,  briefly, 
the  reasons  for  the  course  I  am  about  to  adopt.  I  shall  be 
extremely  brief,  for  my  resolution  is  taken,  and  I  shall  not 
be  swerved  from  my  purpose. 

"  It  is  scarcely  necessary  for  me  to  inform  you,  gentlemen," 
continued  the  Governor,  haughtily,  but,  as  he  thought,  with 
dignity,  "  that  seditious  pei'sons  and  enemies  to  the  govern 
ment  in  this  colony  have  for  a  series  of  years  been  disturb 
ing  the  public  tranquillity,  and  even  proceeding  to  what  is 
constructive  treason,  and  would  be  held  such  under  the  25th 
Edward  III." 

St.  John  exchanged  a  glance  with  the  stranger,  who  moved 
his  head  slightly,  but  again  riveted  his  cold  look  on  the 
Governor. 

"  The  men  that  I  speak  of,  gentlemen,  are  not,  I  believe, 
members  of  the  Burgesses,  who  heretofore,  except  upon  cer 
tain  occasions,  have  conducted  themselves  respectfully  to 
ward  the  government  and  its  representatives  in  the  colonies. 
The  persons  I  refer  to  are  those  who  have  printed  and  cir 
culated  seditious  pamphlets,  some  of  which  I  have  seen  pur 
porting  even  to  be  issued  in  this  capital.  I  have  information 
that  a  man  named  Waters  is  the  most  active  agent  and  des- 
seminator  of  these  papers,  and  I  shall,  at  an  early  day,  take 


HENBY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  21 7 

steps  to  arrest  and  send  him  for  trial  to  England,  with  the 
proofs  of  his  guilt,  which  are  ample.  If  these  proofs  do  not 
rid  the  government  of  one  who  is  eternally  holding  sedition, 
then,  gentlemen,  I  shall  lose  all  confidence  in  the  laws  of 
England,  and  that  gallows  which  punishes  treason  !" 

A  grim  and  disdainful  smile  seemed  to  flit  across  the 
countenance  of  the  stranger  as  he  and  St.  John  exchanged 
glances.  Then  his  fiery  glance  vailed  itself,  his  face  grew 
cold  again,  and  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  Governor. 

"  But  it  was  not  my  purpose,  gentlemen,"  continued  Lord 
Dunmore,  with  a  severe  air,  "  to  refer  to  these  obscure  and 
contemptible  agents  of  treason.  I  designed  calling  your  at 
tention  to  the  fact  that  these  seditious  views  are  being  so 
widely  disseminated  that  all  classes  of  persons  are  becoming 
aroused  by  them.  All  proper  subservience  to  the  govern 
ment  and  myself;  the  very  respect  that  is  due  to  my  person, 
is  refused  in  a  manner  most  insulting  and  outrageous !" 

The  stranger  laid  his  hand  on  St.  John's  arm  and  said,  in 
a  low  voice,  "  Now  it 's  your  turn,  friend,  but  do  n't  move 
or  speak — let  us  listen." 

The  Governor,  whose  countenance  slowly  colored  with 
anger  as  he  spoke,  continued. 

"  You  know,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  to  what  I  have  refer 
ence — the  scene  that  took  place  at  my  palace  some  days 
since.  You  were,  Isome  of  you,  present,  and  you  witnessed 
the  spectacle  of  a  peer  of  the  realm,  and  the  representative 
of  his  Majesty,  insulted,  outraged,  and  even  menaced  by  a 
young  man  whose  reply  to  my  just  complaints  of  his  re- 
missness  was  a  threat  to  plunge  his  sword  into  my  breast. 
If  I  have  not  brought  this  impudent  person  to  justice,  it  is 
only  because  I  have  been  absorbed  by  affairs  more  impor 
tant,  but  he  is  marked  in  my  black  book,  and  in  good  time 
his  sedition  will  be  punished." 

"  Listen,"  said  the  stranger,  in  his  low,  deep  voice,  and 
crouching  with  fiery  eyes,  near  the  face  of  the  young  man, 
"  listen — '  affairs  more  important  /' — do  you  understand  ? 
Conolly !" 

10 


218  HENEY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

And  the  stranger's  eyes  seemed  to  blaze  as  he  leaned  for 
ward,  pointing  to  Dunmore. 

"  Yes,"  said  St.  John,  coldly,  "  I  understand  !" 

The  Governor  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on,  loftily. 

"  All  these  outrages  and  commotions,"  he  said,  "  indicate, 
on  the  part  of  the  people  of  this  colony,  a  tendency  to  -tu 
mult  and  rebellion.  This  tendency  has  entered  the  House 
of  Burgesses,  and  even  appeared  in  that  body  some  years 
ago.  On  that  occasion,  their  action  compelled  Lord  Bote- 
tourt  to  dissolve  them,  an  act  which  he,  however,  performed 
In  a  manner  extremely  reprehensible.  I  say  reprehensible, 
sirs,  and  I  know  what  I  say !  His  lordship  committed  a 
great  fault,  and  I  shall  take  warning  from  the  result  of  his 
ill-advised  proceeding." 

The  Governor  frowned  as  he  spoke,  and  looked  round 
the  council  haughtily. 

"  In  myself,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  his  Majesty  has  a  rep 
resentative  of  another  description.  I  keep  no  terms  with 
rebels,  I  utter  no  honeyed  words  ;  I  suppress  their  rebellious 
career,  that  is  all.  And  this  brings  me,  gentlemen,  to  the 
point  I  would  reach.  The  House  of  Burgesses,  yesterday, 
proceeded  to  resolves  upon  the  late  bill  for  the  closing  of 
Boston  harbor — to  resolves,  in  their  spirit,  if  not  in  letter, 
treasonable  !  Yes,  treasonable  !"  said  the  Governor,  scowl 
ing  at  the  council ;  "  they  have  presumed  to  declare  that 
this  bill  is  a  blow  at  the  liberties  of  America !  The  liber 
ties  !  the  very  word  is  nonsense  !  I  know  what  the  tools 
of  sedition  say  about  these  '  liberties,'  but  I  say  that  the 
best  writers  upon  constitutional  law  lay  down  the  fixed 
principle  that  dependent  colonies  can  have  no  liberties. 
They  are  subject  to  Parliament  and  the  King ;  it  is  their 
place  to  submit,  and  I  for  one,  gentlemen,  will  see  that  the 
government  does  not  yield  to  these  impudent  claims !  Yes, 
impudent !  You  think  the  word  too  strong,  I  do  not !  It 
is  impudence,  and  nothing  less,  to  declare  that  the  govern 
ment  has  no  right  to  close  the  port  of  Boston,  for  their  overt 
act  of  sedition  in  destroying  the  tea  in  December  last !  And 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  219 

the  House  of  Burgesses  is  not  content  with  declaring  this 
an  attack  on  the  liberties  of  America,  forsooth  !  It  must 
proceed  further,  and  appoint  the  first  day  of  June  a  day  of 
fasting,  and  humiliation,  and  prayer !  Well,  gentlemen,  I 
have  but  one  word  to  add.  The  Burgesses,  by  their  owri  ac 
tion,  declare  themselves  desirous  of  being  humiliated.  They 
fix  on  the  first  day  of  June  ;  I  will  save  them  the  trouble  and 
delay  by  humiliating  them  now  !" 

And  with  an  angry  flush  upon  his  countenance,  the 
Governor  turned  to  the  clerk  of  the  council  and  said, 
haughtily, 

"  Bid  the  gentlemen  Burgesses  attend  me  in  my  council 
chamber !" 

The  clerk  bowed  low,  and  left  the  apartment  in  the  midst 
of  profound  silence  on  the  part  of  the  council. 

"  Look  now  and  listen !"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  low  voice, 
to  St.  John  ;  "  see  how  this  coarse  little  terrier  will  snarl  at 
the  lions  of  Virginia !" 

The  usher  returned  and  announced  that  the  Burgesses 
were  approaching. 

They  soon  made  their  appearance,  headed  by  the  speaker 
and  the  sergeant  carrying  the  great  mace,  defiling  into  the 
apartment  with  measured  steps,  and  heads  bent  with  cold 
courtesy  as  they  fronted  the  Governor. 

Lord  Dunmore's  eye,  for  a  moment,  quailed  before  the 
clear  and  calm  gaze  of  these  men  of  lofty  stature  and  erect 
port. 

He  nervously  arranged  his  papers  as  before,  and  cleared 
his  throat.  No  doubt  his  Excellency  had  designed  to  utter 
his  views  at  length,  and  in  a  manner  similar  to  that  already 
made  use  of  to  the  council. 

But  before  the  array  of  fearless  countenances  with  their 
firm  lips  and  cold  eyes,  filled  with  a  hauteur  greater  even 
than  his  own,  this  design  seemed  to  be  too  great  a  tax  on 
his  powers. 

He  gazed  for  a  moment  with  his  former  mixture  of  nerv 
ous  trepidation  and  insulting  disdain  at  the  body,  and  then, 


220  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

raising  from  the  table  a  copy  of  the  resolutions  passed  on 
the  previous  day,  he  said, 

"  Mr.  Speaker,  and  gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Burgesses, 
I  have  in  my  hand  a  paper,  published  by  order  of  your  House, 
conceived  in  such  terms  as  reflect  highly  upon  his  Majesty 
and  the  Parliament  of  Great  Britain,  which  makes  it  neces 
sary  to  dissolve  you,  and  you  are  dissolved  accordingly !" 

Having  so  spoken,  the  Governor,  with  an  angry  and  swol 
len  countenance,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  gazed  with  a 
sort  of  fearful  defiance  upon  the  Burgesses. 

The  speaker  simply  bowed,  and  then,  followed  by  the 
members,  left  the  apartment  in  the  same  deliberate  and 
measured  manner. 

"  Come,  friend  !"  said  the  stranger  to  St.  John,  whom  he 
drew  away,  "  the  first  scene  is  played,  and  the  rest  will  rap 
idly  follow !" 


CHAPTER  XL. 

HOW  HIS   EXCELLENCY   ASKED  THE   NAME    OF  THE   STRANGER. 

THE  two  men  soon  found  themselves  again  upon  the  por 
tico  of  the  capitol. 

The  crowd,  if  any  thing,  had  increased,  and  now  seemed 
to  have  exchanged  its  silence  and  gloom  for  indignation  and 
uproar. 

The  great  waves  rolled,  and  muttered,  and  dashed  them 
selves  about  with  somber  menace,  and  at  times  the  long  pro 
cession,  so  to  speak,  lining  the  whole  of  Gloucester  street, 
writhed  to  and  fro,  resembling,  in  the  brilliant  sunshine,  a 
great  serpent  with  glittering  scales,  his  body  agitated  and 
lustrous  as  that  of  the  cobra  or  the  rattlesnake,  when  about 
to  raise  his  crest  and  strike  with  his  fangs. 

This  threatening  air  was  obvious  at  once,  and  the  stranger 
surveyed  the  huge  mass  of  heads  with  a  species  of  gloomy 
satisfaction. 


HENRY    ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  221 

"  Good,  good  !"  he  said,  in  his  deep  voice,  "  the  breath 
of  the  storm  sweeps  toward  us,  the  surface  begins  to 
foam !" 

"  The  people  ?»  said  St.  John. 

"  Yes,  look !  Do  you  see  this  great  crowd — this  crowd, 
made  up  of  gray  beards  and  children,  of  matrons  and  maidens, 
of  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor  ?  Well,  friend,  I  see  in  their 
faces  the  result  of  our  labors,  our  toils,  our  long  waiting ! 
They  rise,  they  tremble !  the  billows  begin  to  boil !  you  may 
see  the  *  white  horses,'  as  the  poets  say ;  wait !  You  will 
see  the  tenth  wave  before  long  !" 

As  the  stranger  spoke,  his  brilliant  and  fiery  eye  embraced 
the  whole  spectacle,  and  bis  body  bent  forward  like  that  of 
the  hunter,  when  he  finds  himself  in  the  presence  of  the  lion 
at  bay. 

"  You  say,  the  '  tenth  wave,' "  said  St.  John,  gazing  on  the 
stranger's  pale  countenance  with  its  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Yes,  the  wave  that  will  strike  and  overwhelm !" 

"  Heaven  grant  it !" 

"  That  is  the  prayer  of  thousands  night  and  morning — 
that  this  insolent  armed  tyranny  may  be  swept  from  the 
earth  I" 

"  Ah !  armed  !  you  refer  to  the  guards  ?" 

"  Yes,  look  at  them  !" 

"  They  almost  trample  on  the  crowd.  To  think  that  I 
was  once  commander  of  these  men!" 

"  You  are  free  again,  and  see  what  you  have  gained !" 

At  this  moment  the  agitation  of  the  crowd  grew  even 
greater,  and  the  guards  of  his  Excellency  were  hemmed  in 
on  every  side  by  the  waves,  from  which  issued  threatening 
murmurs. 

From  their  elevated  position  the  two  men  had  a  full  view 
of  the  scene,  and  especially  of  Mr.  Lindon,  whose  tall  form, 
on  his  large  horse,  rose  above  the  press. 

Linden's  countenance  wore  a  mingled  expression  of  fear 
and  defiance,  of  anxiety  and  supercilious  disdain. 

He  seemed  to  regard  the  crowd  with  the  impatience  and 


222  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

scorn  of  a  nobleman,  in  presence  of  a  rebellious  canaille,  but 
a  canaille  which  it  was  good  policy  not  to  arouse. 

His  horse,  however,  was  restive,  and  the  heavy  spurs 
which  his  rider  unconsciously  dug  into  his  sides  at  times,  ex 
cited  him  more  and  more.  The  result  of  the  last  application 
of  the  sharp  rowels,  was  a  furious  bound  of  the  animal,  and 
an  old  man,  with  hoary  head  and  beard,  was  struck  heavily 
and  fell. 

In  an  instant  the  crowd  was  driven  to  frenzy,  and  with 
furious  countenances,  they  were  about  to  throw  themselves 
upon  the  troops,  when  a  loud  noise  from  the  portico  attracted 
every  one's  attention. 

It  was  his  Excellency,  who  had  adjourned  the  council 
and  now  descended  to  his  carriage. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  uproar  ?"  he  said,  sternly ; 
"  are  my  people  being  attacked  by  these  insurgents  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  cried  Lindon,  "  the  masses  here  are  in 
commotion !" 

And  he  struck  at  the  hand  of  a  tall  fellow  who  caught  at 
his  bridle. 

The  Governor  saw  the  threat  of  the  man,  and  his  face 
grew  pale. 

"If  they  attack  you,  charge  and  disperse  them!"  he  said, 
pale  and  fearful  amid  all  his  anger. 

Lindon  hesitated. 

The  furious  faces  and  menacing  arms  intimidated  the 
worthy  commander. 

"I  say  charge  them  !"  cried  the  Governor. 

The  words  were  distinctly  heard  by  the  crowd,  and  a  howl 
of  rage  was  the  reply. 

The  women  and  children  were  hastily  huri'ied  to  the  rear, 
the  men  with  strong  arms  appeared  all  at  once  in  front,  in 
an  immovable  phalanx,  and  the  hands  of  these  men,  whose 
faces  were  pale  and  determined,  were  inserted  into  the 
pockets  of  their  doublets,  grasping  concealed  arms  there. 

In  a  moment  a  sanguinary  contest  would  have  ensued, 
and  the  streets  flowed  with  blood. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  223 

But  a  more  commanding  voice  than  that  of  his  Excellency 
rung  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  and  drew  all  eyes  to 
the  speaker. 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  stranger,  and  it  resounded  like  the 
blast  of  a  trumpet  above  the  roar  of  shouts  and  menaces. 

The  words  which  he  uttered  were  brief,  fiery,  and  to  the 
point.  He  counseled  moderation  —  the  moment  had  not 
come.  The  men  before  them  were  a  handfull  only,  which  a 
breath  would  scatter,  but  no  advantage  would  be  gained  by 
dispersing  them. 

"  Let  them  pass !"  he  said  in  his  sonorous  voice,  which 
rang  above  the  menacing  multitude  like  a  clarion ;  "  the  hour 
has  not  struck !  Wait !  it  comes !" 

"  And  you,  my  lord,"  added  the  stranger,  advancing  with 
his  head  raised  proudly  erect  toward  Dunmore,  "  do  not  lash 
this  people  into  madness  !  'T  is  sound  counsel !  Return  to 
your  palace  before  it  is  too  late,  sir !  In  ten  minutes  your 
path  will  be  barred  by  the  crowd,  and  at  a  word  the  streets 
of  the  capital  will  flow  with  blood  !  I  give  you  good  advice, 
and  advise  you  to  profit  by  it.  Return,  I  say,  while  you 
have  time !" 

The  Governor  trembled  with  rage,  and  glared  at  the 
speaker  for  an  instant  without  speaking. 

"And  who  are  you,  sir?"  he  said,  with  an  explosion; 
"  who  are  you  that  give  advice  to  a  peer  of  the  realm,  and 
the  representative  of  his  Majesty  ?" 

"  A  man  of  the  people  only,  my  lord." 

"  Your  name,  sir !  I  desire  to  remember  it !" 

A  cloud  passed  over  the  stranger's  brow,  and  his  eyes 
flashed. 

"  It  is  a  name  that  is  not  pleasant  to  your  lordship !"  he 
said,  haughtily,  "  a  circumstance  which  I  do  not  regret !" 

"  Your  name,  sir !" 

"  Waters !"  replied  the  stranger,  returning  the  Governor's 
frown  with  a  glance  of  fire  which  showed  to  what  depths 
his  nature  was  moved.  "  Waters  is  my  name,  and  I  am  the 
father  of  the  child  whom  your  lordship,  with  a  coarseness 


224  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

and  cruelty  only  worthy  of  a  peer  of  the  realm,  outraged 
and  wounded  in  your  palace  !  I  scorn  to  conceal  any  thing  ! 
If  your  lordship  presumes  to  order  my  arrest,  I  will  arouse 
that  crowd  to  tear  you  and  your  escort  to  pieces  !" 

Carried  away  for  the  moment  by  rage  and  scorn,  the 
speaker  advanced  another  step  toward  the  Governor,  and 
confronted  him  with  a  look  of  such  decision  and  fire,  that 
Dunmore's  cheek  grew  pale,  and  his  lips  vainly  endeavored 
to  shape  an  answer. 

"  Your  lordship  will  doubtless  have  all  your  hounds  on 
my  track  to-morrow !"  said  the  stranger,  "  but  I  will  defend 
myself  now  and  at  all  times !  If  you  arrest  me,  it  will  be  my 
dead  body !" 

The  Governor  had  not  time  to  utter  a  word  in  reply  to 
this  speech,  before  the  portico  suddenly  filled  with  the  mem 
bers  of  the  House  of  Burgesses. 

At  sight  of  them  the  crowd  uttered  a  shout,  or  rather  a 
roar,  indicating  a  perfect  knowledge  of  their  ignominious 
dismissal. 

The  menacing  waves  rushed  again  toward  the  troop, 
and  the  six  horses,  drawing  the  chariot  of  his  Excellency, 
tossed  their  heads  and  moved  about  in  their  harnesses  with 
fright. 

"  My  lord,"  said  the  speaker  of  the  Burgesses,  "  permit 
me  to  respectfully  suggest  your  return  to  the  palace.  The 
people  assembled  here  evidently  construe  your  dissolution 
of  the  Burgesses  into  an  insult  and  outrage,  and  we  can  not 
be  responsible  for  the  consequences  of  the  further  presence 
of  the  troops !" 

Dunmore,  boiling  with  rage,  and  pale  with  fear,  surveyed, 
alternately,  the  Burgesses  and  the  roaring  crowd. 

The  people  were  more  completely  aroused  than  ever ;  Lin- 
don's  eyes  turned,  from  moment  to  moment,  uneasily  toward 
the  Governor. 

"  My  lord !"  said  the  speaker,  "  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 
either  return  or  dismiss  your  troops  !  In  ten  minutes  blood 
will  flow !" 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  225 

Dunmore,  with  a  convulsion  of  wrath,  but  a  step  waver 
ing  and  undecided,  half  descended  the  flight  of  steps. 

"  Go  on,  ray  lord,"  said  the  speaker,  "  we  will  attend  you 
and  restrain  any  commotion  of  the  inhabitants.  I  beseech 
your  lordship  to  proceed !" 

Lord  Dunmore  half  turned,  with  a  countenance  red  and 
pale  with  rapid  changing  expressions,  and  for  an  instant  his 
wrathful  glance  rested  upon  the  face  of  the  stranger. 

He  ground  his  teeth  audibly,  and  shaking  his  glove  to 
ward  his  enemy,  turned  and  descended  the  steps. 

The  members  of  the  Burgesses  surrounded  him,  and  mix 
ing  with  the  crowd,  spoke  earnestly  and  reproachfully  to 
them. 

The  justice  of  these  representations  seemed  to  be  acknowl 
edged,  and  the  sea  of  heads  flowed  backward  toward  the 
houses  on  each  side  of  the  way,  leaving  an  open  space, 
through  which  the  troops,  headed  by  Lindon  and  the  chariot 
containing  the  Governor,  rapidly  advanced  towards  the  pal 
ace. 

The  Burgesses  continued  to  escort  it  until  it  disappeared 
at  the  turn  of  the  street,  and  then  they  mixed  with  the 
crowd,  in  whose  tumultuous  and  agitated  waves  they  were 
swallowed  up  and  lost. 


CHAPTEK  XLL 

THE   STEPS   AND   THE   BASE   OF   LORD   BOTETOURT'S   STATUE. 

ONE  member  of  the  Burgesses  remained  on  the  portico 
of  the  capitol. 

It  was  the  awkward-looking  man  in  the  tie-wig,  the  peach- 
blossom  coat,  and  old  red  cloak.* 

Leaning  against  a  pillar,  with  his  shoulders  bent,  a  pair 
of  old  saddle-bags,  containing  papers,  on  his  arm,  his  iron 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXVIII. 
10* 


226  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

mouth  wreathed  with  a  cold,  grim  smile,  the  man  in  the  red 
cloak  gazed  after  the  retreating  chariot  and  its  escort. 

He  then  rose  erect,  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  the 
stranger,  said,  in  a  voice  at  once  harsh  and  musical,  careless 
and  earnest, 

"  Well,  brother  patriot !  that 's  a  handsome  spectacle,  is 
it  not  now  ?" 

The  stranger  was  silent  for  some  minutes,  during  which 
time  he  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  suppressing  the  last  mut- 
terings  of  the  storm  of  wrath  which  had  clouded  his  mind. 

One  after  one  his  features  sank  into  rest,  the  old  iron 
calmness  again  diffused  itself  over  his  countenance,  and  he 
replied, 

"  I  know  not,  friend,  if  it  is  a  handsome  sight,  but  I  think 
it  a  very  fair  exhibition  of  aped  and  mimiced  royalty." 

"Well,  you  see,  his  Excellency's  king  here — we  can't 
complain." 

"  Yes,  king  !  by  right  of  arms." 

"  I  do  n't  think  you  treated  royalty  with  sufficient  re 
spect,"  said  the  man  in  the  red  cloak,  smiling  grimly ; 
"  he  '11  take  his  revenge  and  arrest  you." 

"  My  dead  body,  perhaps." 

"  Good  !  good  !"  said  the  grim  speaker ;  "  that 's  the  way 
I  like  to  hear  people  talk !  That 's  the  true  lingo !  I  know 
you  are  in  earnest,  and  are  ready." 

"  I  am,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Beware  of  your  movements  —  watch!  guard  yourself. 
For  you  have  a  cunning  and  treacherous  enemy  to  deal 
with,  a  man  who  absolutely  disgusts  and  revolts  me!" 

And  the  countenance  of  the  man  in  the  red  cloak  lost  its 
grim  carelessness,  and  his  eyes  flashed. 

"  Brother !"  he  said,  proudly  raising  his  head,  "  I  think 
we  're  beginning  to  reap  !  Do  you  remember  our  talks  at 
the  Raleigh  ten  years  ago  ?  I  then  affected  to  teach  you  ; 
I  was  really  learning.  I  was  wrong,  you  were  right!  It 
was  necessary  to  advance  step  by  step ;  '  from  doubt  to  cer 
tainty,  from  certainty  to  indignation,  from  indignation  to 


HENKY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  227 

revolution  !'  Those  were  your  very  words,  and  they  have 
been  the  iron  bit,  the  chain  bridle  which  curbed  my  natural 
impetuosity  and  recklessness.  I  would  have  shot  on,  like  a 
war-horse,  and  you  held  me  in.  I  would  have  rushed  head 
long,  your  mind  held  me  back !  Yes,  you  were  the  true 
thinker,  marching,  step  by  step,  with  the  times,  neither  in 
advance  or  behind.  Do  not  deny  it,"  continued  the  man  in 
the  red  cloak,  gazing  with  a  proud  look  upon  the  stranger, 
which  seemed  to  illumine  his  countenance,  and  rendered  it 
most  attractive ;  "  do  not  say  no,  for  I  speak  the  truth  of 
your  genius  !  You  saw  further  and  deeper  than  I  did,  and 
history  is  your  vindication.  Well,  now,  we  have  truly  gone 
from  doubt  and  certainty  to  indignation,  and  the  end  will 
be  the  fires  of  revolution,  as  you  predicted." 

"  Yes,  friend !"  said  the  speaker,  raising  his  head  still  more 
nobly,  and  with  glowing  eyes,  "  you  were  right,  a  thousand 
times  right,  and  yet  ten  years  ago  we  really  inaugurated  this 
revolution.  Can  your  memory  ever  lose  that  scene  which  I 
refer  to?  I  see  that  you  remember ;  that  you  can  not  forget 
the  burning  stamps,  the  great  crowd,  the  roaring  of  that 
thunder,  and  the  dazzling  bolt  which  crashed  down  in  a 
blaze  like  the  light  of  the  eyes  of  the  Almighty !  But  you 
did  not  hear  my  words  then,  there  on  that  platform,  above 
the  roaring  fire,  for  you  were  lifeless,  your  mouth  full  of 
bloody  foam !  Brother !  I  received  you  as  you  fell  back  in 
my  arms  on  my  breast !  I  clasped  your  weak  form  to  my 
heart  as  a  mother  clasps  her  child.  Do  you  know  what  I 
said  after  what  you  uttered  then  ?  I  said, '  The  revolution 
is  begun  !'  and  it  was !  To-day  it  only  goes  on,  you  see ! 
and  it 's  no  new  acquaintance  to  us  at  least !" 

The  man  in  the  red  cloak  had  completely  lost  his  care 
lessness,  as  he  spoke  in  animated  and  nervous  tones,  and 
his  earnest  eyes  dwelt  with  proud  admiration  on  the 
stranger. 

"There's  the  hand  I  gave  you  ten  years  ago,"  he  said, 
"  the  hand  of  a  loyal  man  !  I  then  said  to  you  that  the  new 
world  dawned ;  I  now  add  that  the  sun  mounts,  through 


228  HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

clouds  and  mists,  to  its  zenith.  Remember !  to-morrow,  in 
the  Raleigh,  you  know  !  The  association  is  already  drawn 
up." 

And,  retiring  as  it  were  into  himself,  again  the  man  in 
the  red  cloak  led  the  way  down  the  steps,  with  a  careless 
and  shambling  gait,  which  was  the  perfection  of  awkward 
ness. 

St.  John  gazed  after  him  with  thoughtful  eyes,  and  asked 
himself  if  this  man  really  could  be  the  thunderbolt  of  ora 
tory,  the  genius  of  the  rising  storm. 

The  voice  of  the  stranger  recalled  him  to  himself. 

"  I  see  what  you  are  thinking  of,  friend,"  he  said,  in  his 
habitual  tone  of  calmness ;  "  you  doubt  whether  this  man  is 
equal  to  the  work  assigned  to  him;  you  question  the  sublim 
ity  of  that  strength  I  have  claimed  for  him.  Well  let  us 
not  further  discuss  the  matter.  Let  us  wait,  and  perhaps  we 
shall  hear  his  voice.  Let  us  follow  the  current  of  events, 
and  see  their  course.  Virginia  is  every  moment  now  mak 
ing  history !" 

The  stranger  then  descended  the  steps,  followed  by  St. 
John,  and  they  both  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

There  were  two  personages  present  at  these  stormy 
scenes  whom  neither  the  young  man  nor  the  stranger  had 
noticed. 

The  first  was  a  child  who,  mounted  upon  the  pedestal  of 
Lord  Botetomt's  statue,  with  one  white  arm  clasped  round 
that  worthy  nobleman's  knee,  had  followed,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  fearful  eyes,  the  details  of  the  tumult. 

She  was  clad  in  a  little  pink  dress,  with  scarlet  silk  stock 
ings,  which  ended  in  resetted  shoes,  and  one  of  these  shoes 
was  firmly  planted  on  the  pedestal  of  the  statue.  The  child 
kneeled  with  the  other  knee  on  the  shoulder  of  a  youthful 
cavalier,  on  whose  curly  head  she  rested  her  left  hand  for 
further  security,  and  the  boy  seemed  to  be  proud  of  his 
burden. 

As  the  stranger  and  St.  John  disappeared,  the  girl  slid 
down  from  the  statue,  was  caught  gallantly  in  the  arms  of 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  229 

her  escort,  and  they  wandered  away — the  boy's  arm  round 
the  neck  of  the  child,  and  her  own  resting  innocently  on  his 
shoulder. 

As  they  were  lost  in  the  crowd  the  girl  said, 

"  Oh  me,  Paul !  did  n't  it  scare  you  ?" 

"  No  !"  replied  Paul ;  "  no,  Blossom !  You  see,  you  are 
a  girl ;  I  am  a  man,  and  I  want  to  fight !" 

He  did  so,  in  the  Revolution. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 
THE  "APOLLO"  ROOM  IN  THE  RALEIGH  TAVERN. 

JDeiis  ndbis  JUKC  otia  fecit. 

IT  was  the  morning  of  the  27th  of  May,  1774,  a  day  which, 
like  the  22d  of  February,  1732,  and  the  4th  of  July,  1776, 
belongs  to  history. 

As  before,  the  sun  rose,  bright  and  serene,  through  a 
cloudless  heaven,  and  at  ten  o'clock  the  members  of  the 
late  House  of  Burgesses  met  in  the  "  Apollo"  room  of  the 
Raleigh  tavern.  On  the  same  evening,  the  ball  given  by 
the  Burgesses,  in  honor  of  Lady  Dunmore,  was  to  be  held 
at  the  capitol.* 

Our  brethren  of  other  States  have  carefully  collected  the 
dates  of  revolutionary  occurrences,  at  this  period,  when  so 
many  colonies  were  jostling  each  other,  as  it  were,  in  the 
noble  struggle  for  precedence  in  bidding  defiance  to  the 
oppression  of  the  home  government.  For  this  reason  we 
rigidly  adhere  to  history  in  narrating  events  at  Williams- 
burg. 

It  was  at  four  in  the  evening,  on  the  26th  of  May,  1774, 
that  the  Virginia  House  of  Burgesses  were  dissolved  for  their 
action  on  the  bill  closing  Boston  harbor.  It  was  at  ten  in  the 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXIX. 


230  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

morning,  on  the  27th  of  May,  the  next  day,  that  they  met 
in  the  Raleigh  tavern  to  enter  their  solemn  protest  against 
the  act  of  the  Governor,  and  send  their  words  of  cheer  to 
their  brethren.  It  was  at  nine  o'clock  at  night,  on  the  same 
evening,  that  the  Burgesses  and  gentlemen  of  Virginia  met 
to  honor  with  splendid  entertainment  the  wife  and  daughters 
of  Lord  Dunmore. 

It  was  an  act  very  characteristic  of  the  men  of  Virginia — 
those  courtly  gentlemen  whose  portraits  we  now  gaze  on 
with  so  much  affection  and  admiration.  They  bowed  low 
to  Lord  Dunmore  on  that  evening ;  but  it  was  the  bow  of 
the  swordsman,  who  salutes  his  adversary  as  he  places  him 
self  on  guard. 

The  "  Apollo"  room  was  a  plain  apartment,  with  white 
washed  walls,  numerous  windows,  and  a  pine  wainscotting, 
painted  lead  color,  running  around  the  whole  extent  of  the 
room. 

A  door  at  one  end  afforded  entrance,  and  at  the  other  end 
an  old-fashioned  fire-place  was  flanked  by  two  other  doors, 
leading  by  winding  stair-cases  to  the  dormitories  above. 

A  long  table  and  a  number  of  benches  and  chairs,  hastily 
provided,  were  the  sole  furniture  of  the  apartment  when  the 
Burgesses  assembled. 

Our  chronicle  aims  rather  to  give  colors  and  social  pecu 
liarities  than  public  events,  and  in  preceding  pages  we  have 
endeavored  to  trace  some  of  the  traits  of  the  period,  and  to 
exhibit  the  effect,  in  a  social  point  of  view,  of  those  events 
upon  the  minds  especially  of  men  leading  that  remote  coun 
try  life,  where  the  true  character  of  movements  and  things 
is  caught  more  vividly  and  accurately,  perhaps,  than  in  other 
localities.  We  have  shown  how  the  intelligence  of  the  Bos 
ton  Port  bill  was  received  at  Vanely,  and  we  have  just  wit 
nessed  the  scenes  which  attended  the  resolves  of  the  Bur 
gesses  on  the  same  subject. 

We  shall,  therefore,  leave  to  the  imagination  of  the  reader 
the  meeting  at  the  Raleigh  of  those  true  and  noble  patriots 
— leave,  also,  to  imagination,  the  countenances  and  words  of 


HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  231 

those  men  who  did  so  much  for  their  descendants ;  who,  in 
the  long  galleries  of  history,  will  bang  the  noblest  pictures, 
the  heroes,  of  the  dark  and  stormy  days  of  our  Revolution. 
For  him  who  writes,  there  seems  ever  to  rest  upon  those 
splendid  figures  and  imperial  brows  a  richer  splendor  than 
we  see  to-day — the  glory  and  beauty  of  a  purer  patriotism, 
and  a  more  serene  and  changeless  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
truth  and  the  happiness  of  their  species.  They  were  true  as 
steel  amid  the  fury  of  the  storm,  and  sent  their  great  voices 
to  their  brethren  without  fear.* 

Tout  Seigneur,  tout  honneur  I 

Of  this  body  of  men  who  threw  down  the  gauntlet  to  a 
wicked  oppression,  pledging  life  and  fortune,  and  sacred 
honor  in  the  struggle ;  of  these  men  who  met  at  the  old 
Raleigh,  Virginia  will  ever  be  proud.  Not  a  head  but  is  dear 
to  her  still,  for  there  is  not  a  name  but  is  an  echo  of  truth 
and  courage,  and  devotion  to  a  noble  cause. 

The  meeting  in  the  "  Apollo"  room  soon  terminated. 

Its  deliberations  had  been  marked  by  the  utmost  calm 
ness,  the  most  immovable  decision,  and  a  dignity  and  mod 
eration  which  gave  its  action  the  eifect  of  a  decree  emanat 
ing  from  the  flower  of  the  patriotism  and  strength  of  the 
colony. 

The  convention  had  agreed  upon  a  proclamation  to  the 
people  of  Virginia,  headed,  "An  Association  signed  by 
eighty-nine  members  of  the  late  House  of  Burgesses." 

It  declared  that  the  Burgesses,  "  having  been  deprived,  by 
the  sudden  interposition  of  the  executive  part  of  the  govern 
ment,  from  giving  their  countrymen  the  advice  they  wished 
to  convey  to  them  in  a  legislative  capacity,  they  found 
themselves  under  the  hard  necessity  of  adopting  this,  the 
only  method  they  had  left,  of  pointing  out  to  their  country 
men  such  measures  as  in  their  opinion  were  best  fitted  to 
secure  their  dear  rights  and  liberty  from  destruction,  by 
the  heavy  hand  of  power  now  lifted  against  North  Amer 
ica." 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXX. 


232  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

The  paper  went  on  to  declare  that  the  application  of  the 
colonies  to  Great  Britain  for  justice  had  been  disregarded  ; 
that  a  determined  system  was  being  pressed  to  reduce  them 
to  slavery,  by  taxing  them  without  representation,  and  that 
the  Boston  Harbor  bill  was  unconstitutional  and  "  most  vio 
lent  and  arbitrary" — a  "  dangerous  attempt  to  destroy  the 
liberties  of  America."  That  tea  should  be  used  by  no  per 
son  wishing  well  to  his  country,  and  that  no  other  East  In 
dia  Company  commodity  whatsoever,  but  absolute  necessa 
ries,  should  be  purchased  or  used. 

"  We  are  further  clearly  of  opinion,"  said  the  paper,  "  that 
an  attack  made  on  one  of  our  sister  colonies,  to  compel  sub 
mission  to  arbitrary  taxes,  is  an  attack  made  on  all  British 
America,  and  threatens  ruin  to  the  rights  of  all,  unless  the 
united  wisdom  of  the  whole  be  applied.  And  for  this  pur 
pose  it  is  recommended  to  the  committee  of  correspondence, 
that  they  communicate  with  their  several  corresponding 
committees,  on  the  expediency  of  appointing  deputies  from 
the  several  colonies  of  British  America,  to  meet  in  general 
congress  at  such  place,  annually,  as  shall  be  thought  most 
convenient;  there  to  deliberate  on  those  general  measures 
which  the  united  interests  of  America  may,  from  time  to 
time,  require." 

The  paper  ended  by  declaring  that  a  persistence  in  the 
designs  of  Parliament  would  produce  an  "  end  of  all  com 
mercial  intercourse  with  Great  Britain,"  and  then  were  af 
fixed  the  signatures  of  the  eighty-nine  Burgesses. 

Thus,  in  this  paper,  the  members  of  the  late  House  of 
Burgesses  : 

I.  Protested  against  their  arbitrary  dissolution  by  Lord 
Dunmore. 

II.  Declared  the  Boston  Port  bill  unconstitutional,  and  a 
blow  at  the  liberties  of  the  North  American  provinces. 

III.  That  they  and  their  countrymen  would  use  no  tea 
or  other  English  commodities  until  the  act  was  repealed. 

IV.  That  an  attack  on  the  sister  province  of  Massachusetts 
was  regarded  as  an  attack  upon  Virginia. 


HENRY    ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  233 

V.  That  persistence  in  these  measures  would  terminate 
all  intercourse  with  Great  Britain. 

VI.  That  steps  should  at  once  be  taken  for  a  general 
congress  to  meet  annually,  and  deliberate  on  such  measures 
as  the  united  interests  of  the  country  at  large  might  de 
mand. 

Thus  the  Burgesses  of  Virginia  accurately  and  clearly  de 
fined  the  oppressions  of  England,  and  proclaimed  the  rights 
of  the  people  of  North  America.  They  declared  common 
cause  with  the  sister  colonies,  and  pointed  out  the  strength 
to  be  derived  from  union.  Thus  Virginia  was  at  her  post, 
as  always,  in  the  van  of  the  great  army  of  resistance.  All 
eyes  were  directed  toward  her,  and  her  voice  of  good  cheer 
was  heard  through  the  gathering  storm,  as  her  sisters  had 
heard  it  in  the  past.* 

In  the  burning  oratory  of  Patrick  Henry  in  '65,  the 
gauntlet  was  thrown  down  to  the  originators  of  the  Stamp 
Act. 

In  tLe  protests  of  the  Burgesses  in  '74,  the  issue  was  joined 
on  the  Boston  Port  bill. 

The  hot  metal,  for  nine  years,  growing  hotter  and  hotter 
in  the  cauldron,  was  thus  poured  into  the  mould  of  revolu 
tion. 


CHAPTER   XLIII. 

IN     WHICH     A     CHARIOT     ARRIVES. 

"WELL  friend,"  said  the  stranger,  issuing  forth  with  St. 

John  from  the  Apollo  chamber  of  the  "  Raleigh,"  "  you  see 

the  game 's  afoot !   the  leashes  are  loosed,  and  the  dogs  of 

war  bay  on  the  track !" 

"Your  prophecies  rush  to  their  fulfillment  truly!" 

"  They  were  not  such — they  were  mere  announcements. 

And  now,  friend,  I  must  go.    My  work  calls  me.    Events 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXXI. 


234  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

tread  on  each  other's  heels,  and  minutes  grow  to  days.  I 
have  told  you  where  to  find  me,  if  you  wish,  in  the  capital." 

And  saluting  his  companion,  the  stranger  turned  away 
and  was  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  crowd. 

St.  John  returned  slowly  to  his  lodgings,  and  sitting 
down,  remained  for  a  long  time  buried  in  thought.  In  the 
two  days  which  had  just  elapsed  he  had  received  so  many 
new  and  vivid  impressions  that  he  needed  silence  and  reflec 
tion.  He  had  heard  the  moving  accents  of  a  mysterious 
agent  of  revolution ;  he  had  seen  the  representatives  of  the 
people  defy  the  authority  of  the  government ;  he  felt  the 
ground  shake  beneath  him  as  it  were,  with  the  tramp  of  a 
nation  slowly  advancing  toward  the  gulf  of  Avar. 

On  that  other  more  painful  event  of  recent  hours,  he  tried 
not  to  let  his  mind  dwell.  At  first  he  succeeded,  but  soon 
his  resolution  succumbed,  and,  with  a  bitter  sigh,  he  went 
over  every  detail  of  his  misfortune. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said  at  length,  rising,  "  let  the  dead  days 
bury  the  dead,  I  '11  not  touch  the  corpse.  I  '11  not  whine 
and  moan,  let  what  will  come !  Patience !  't  is  all  in  a  life 
time  !" 

And  going  to  the  window,  he  gazed  sorrowfully  into  the 
street.  As  he  did  so,  a  chariot  stopped  before  the  door  of 
the  large  house  opposite,  the  residence  of  his  friend,  Mr. 
Burwell.  He  started  as  he  saw  Bonnybel  issue  from  it.  She 
was  followed  by  the  gouty  old  colonel  and  the  rest  of  the 
family,  and  the  great  traveling  trunks,  containing  doubtless 
the  ball  costumes  of  the  ladies,  having  been  removed,  old 
Cato  whipped  up  his  four  long-tailed  horses,  and  the  chariot 
drove  to  the  stables. 

The  visitors  were  received  at  the  door  by  Mr.  Burwell ; 
a  beautiful  young  lady,  with  sunny  carls,  embraced  and 
kissed  Bonnybel ;  it  was  she  whom  the  girl  called  "  Belle- 
bouche" — and  the  door  closed  upon  the  party. 

St.  John  returned  to  his  sofa  and  his  reflections.  They 
busied  themselves  with  the  query  whether  he  should  attend 
the  assembly.  At  last  he  seemed  to  have  made  up  his  mind. 


HENRY    ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  235 

"  Yes,  I  '11  go,"  he  muttered;-  "  and  not  act  the  part  of  the 
Knight  of  the  Forlorn  Countenance !  I  '11  go  dance,  and 
laugh,  and  be  as  hypocritical  as  the  best  of  them.  What  a 
world  it  would  be  if  every  luckless  fellow  turned  hermit ! 
if  every  heavy  heart  did  not  mask  its  anguish  with  a  laugh  !" 

And  looking  with  a  sardonic  smile  at  a  picture  resembling 
Bonnybel,  which  hung  on  the  wall,  he  added : 

"  The  fallen  salutes  his  victor !" 


CHAPTER    XLIY. 

THE     ASSEMBLY     AT     THE     CAPITOL. 

NIGHT  had  fallen,  brilliant  with  stars.  The  streets  of  the 
capital  resounded  ceaselessly  with  the  roll  of  chariots.  A 
laughing  throng  rushed,  with  merriment  and  confusion,  to 
ward  the  center  of  attraction — the  old  capitol,  where  the 
ball  was  held. 

A  procession  of  splendid  equipages  constantly  deposited 
their  burdens  before  the  portico.  These  burdens  were  pomp 
ous  old  planters  in  rich  dark  doublets,  powdered  heads,  knee- 
breeches,  and  silk  stockings ;  grand  old  dames  in  black  silks 
and  diamonds,  and  laughing  little  maidens,  who  flashed  forth 
like  butterflies  in  their  immense  hooped  dresses  of  glittering 
satin,  with  jewels  and  laces,  and  curls  and  smiles,  the  latter 
directed  at  the  gay  gallants  who  received  them. 

The  youngsters  in  question  did  not  come  in  the  family 
chariots.  They  preferred,  to  that  "  slow"  mode  of  convey 
ance,  the  saddles  of  their  thorough-breds.  On  their  fine 
prancing  horses  they  had  galloped  by  the  coaches,  uttering 
a  hundred  jests,  and  exhibiting  their  graces  to  Dulcinea 
within,  and  they  now  stood  prepared  to  lead  in  the  ladies. 

Let  us  leave  the  scenes  of  hubbub  at  the  door,  and  enter 
the  assembly  room. 

It  is  filled  with  the  laughter  of  revelers.    A  great  crowd, 


236  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

undulating  to  and  fro  beneath  the  brilliant  lamps,  is  con 
stantly  increased  by  new  arrivals.  From  end  to  end  of  the 
great  room,  runs  a  buzz  of  voices,  which  rises  at  times  to  a 
deafening  din,  and  when  the  sable  musicians  in  the  corner 
scrape  their  catgut,  a  thrill  of  delight  runs  through  the 
young  men  and  maidens.  Silks  and  satins  rustle  and  whis 
tle,  like  the  broad  leaves  of  corn  when  a  breeze  passes  over 
them  ;  the  bright  eyes  of  the  ladies  summon  their  partners 
for  the  quadrille  and  the  minuet. 

From  his  post  in  a  corner,  St.  John  sees  Colonel  Vane  and 
his  family  entei'.  The  colonel  limps,  leaning  on  his  gold- 
headed  cane,  erect  Aunt  Mabel  at  his  side.  Behind  comes 
Miss  Seraphina  with  her  friend,  Mr.  John  Hamilton  ;  Tom. 
Alston  escorts  Helen  ;  and  lastly  Miss  Bonnybel  appears  on 
the  arm  of  Barry  Hunter,  the  Prince  of  the  Wilderness.  St. 
John  does  not  look  at  Mr.  Burwell's  party,  he  gazes  calmly 
at  Bonnybel. 

She  is  clad  in  a  dress  of  gauze-like  fabric,  over  a  petticoat 
of  azure  satin.  A  mass  of  lace  envelopes  her  beautiful  arms, 
and  she  looks  as  fresh  as  a  rose.  Her  hair,  profusely  pow 
dered  and  looped  with  pearls,  is  carried  back  from  her  white 
forehead  ;  her  violet  eyes  sparkle  with  anticipation. 

The  dark  brunette  complexion,  black  hair,  and  calm  face 
of  the  gentleman  who  comes  and  salutes  her,  present  a  de 
cided  contrast  to  the  maiden. 

It  is  Mr.  St.  John,  who  approaches  in  the  most  courteous 
way,  and  pays  his  respects  to  the  party.  A  slight  color 
comes  to  the  girl's  cheek  as  he  bows,  and  she  holds  out  her 
hand  and  presses  his  own  warmly.  The  pressure  is  not  re 
turned,  and  St.  John,  bowing  low,  makes  way  for  the  gen 
tlemen  who  hasten  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  little  beauty. 

All  at  once  the  brilliant  crowd  is  seen  to  divide.  Lord 
Dunmore,  in  a  costume  of  immense  splendor,  enters.  His 
squat  little  figure  is  covered  with  embroidery  and  decora 
tions.  His  countenance  wears  an  elaborate  smile,  but  his 
eyes  do  not  smile  at  ah1,  they  glitter,  so  to  speak,  on  the  as 
sembly. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  237 

The  ladies,  however — the  countess  and  her  daughters — 
seem  unaffectedly  pleased.  Innumerable  presentations  com 
mence  then,  and  these  are  succeeded  by  a  minuet,  in 
which  the  countess  is  led  forth  by  Mr.  Randolph,  of  the 
council. 

The  festivities  of  the  evening  are  thus  formally  inaugu 
rated,  and  thenceforth  the  assembly  commences  in  earnest. 
Quadrilles,  contra-dances,  minuets  succeed  each  other;  the 
joy  and  mirth  of  the  ball  begins  to  culminate.  The  apart 
ment  trembles  and  quakes  with  the  flood  of  voices,  the 
floors  jar  with  the  feet  of  the  dancers  as  they  move,  as 
they  move  to  the  loud  music,  which  rejoices  and  triumphs 
in  its  sway  over  gallants  and  dames. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 

THE     RIVAL     LIEUTENANTS     OF     THE     GUARDS. 

"  ARE  you  angry  with  me,  cousin  ?" 

,  St.  John,  who  was  talking  with  his  friend,  Mr.  Hamilton, 
felt  a  hand  on  his  arm  from  behind.  He  started,  and  turn 
ing,  saw  Bonnybel  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  gentleman. 

There  was  a  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  something  like  a 
pout  upon  her  lips,  but  the  eyes  of  the  young  lady  were  very 
sad  as  she  gazed  at  St.  John. 

"  Angry  ?"  he  said  recovering  from  his  momentary  sur 
prise  ;  "  by  no  means  ;  why  should  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Because  you  've  scarce  saluted  me.  and  not  asked  me  to 
dance." 

And  Miss  Bonnybel  pouted  again. 

"  I  am  not  very  gay  this  evening,"  replied  the  young  man. 
"  I  spare  your  feelings,  for  I  should  doubtless  weary  you." 

"  You  are  very  cold  !"  she  murmured,  in  a  tone  which  he 
alone  caught,  "  you  look  at  me  as  though  I  were  the  most 
indifferent  person  in  the  world  to  you." 


238  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

And  the  large  sad  eyes  dwelt  pensively  upon  his  counten 
ance. 

His  pulse  throbbed,  but  that  was  all.     He  did  not  speak. 

"  You  forget  that  long  ago,  you  engaged  my  hand  for  a 
minuet,"  she  continued,  coloring,  "but,  doubtless,  you  have 
not  thought  of  me  or  the  engagement." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  was  coming  to  claim  your  hand  for 
the  next.  Will  you  dance  with  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

The  embarrassing  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the 
appearance  of  Mr.  Lindon,  who,  in  his  splendid  uniform  of 
lieutenant  of  the  guards,  came  and  saluted,  profoundly,  the 
young  lady. 

"  May  I  have  the  honor  of  dancing  the  next  minuet  with 
you,  madame  ?"  he  said. 

"I  have  just  engaged  myself  to  my  cousin,  Mr.  St.  John, 
sir,"  she  replied,  coldly. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  with  that  expression 
which  indicates  concealed  hostility,  and  bowed  low. 

"  Then  I  trust  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  Mis& 
Vane  to  the  countess  and  his  Excellency,"  continued  Lin 
don. 

"  Pray  excuse  me,  sir.  I  propose  going  up  with  my  fa 
ther." 

Lindon's  head  rose  proudly. 

"  I  am  unfortunate  in  my  requests,"  he  said,  "  but  at  least 
I  may  hope  to  secure  Miss  Vane's  hand  for  the  next  qua 
drille." 

"  I  am  engaged,-  sir." 

"  For  the  next,  then." 

"  It  is  very  fatiguing." 

Lindon's  face  colored  with  anger,  and  with  a  haughty  toss 
of  the  head,  he  said, 

"  I  regret  that  Miss  Vane  should  regard  me  with  personal 
dislike." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  have  offended  you,  sir ;  it  gives  me  no 
pleasure  to  wound  any  one's  feelings." 


HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  239 

"  Miss  Vane's  theory  and  practice  slightly  differ." 

St.  John  had  been  chafing  for  some  moments  at  Linden's 
tone.  He  now  raised  his  finger,  coldly,  and  said, 

"  You  must  be  aware,  sir,  that  this  conversation  is  dis 
agreeable  to  Miss  Vane.  I  insist  on  its  terminating  at 
once." 

The  flush  of  anger  deepened  upon  Linden's  face,  and  he 
was  about  to  reply,  when  the  musicians  struck  up  a  minuet. 
Bonnybel  hastily  took  her  cousin's  arm,  and  led  him  to  the 
dance.  In  all  their  movements  they  were  followed  by  the 
glittering  and  sinister  eyes  of  Lindon,  and  the  expression  of 
his  face  indicated  profound  rage. 

But  this  rage  was  destined  to  be  further  increased. 

As  the  minuet  ended,  a  sudden  burst  of  laughter,  at  the 
door  of  the  apartment,  attracted  the  attention  of  every  one, 
and  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  Lindon. 

"  Pray  what 's  the  jest  yonder,  Captain  "Waters  ?"  said 
St.  John  to  that  gentleman  who  stood  near ;  "  something 
seems  to  amuse  the  company." 

"  Ah,  farceur  !"  cried  the  captain,  twirling  his  huge  mus 
tache,  and  making  a  low  salute  to  Bonnybel,  "  do  you  deny 
that  you  are  the  originator  of  this  comedy — this  excellent, 
admirable  comedy  ?" 

"  Comedy  ?" 

"  Farce !  harlequinade  !  what  you  please !"  cried  the  cap 
tain,  laughing,  "  and  see  if  my  opinion  is  not  that  of  all !" 

As  he  spoke,  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  St.  John.  The 
young  man's  brows  contracted,  and  desiring  that  Bonnybel 
might  not  share  this  strange  publicity,  he  surrendered  her 
to  the  protection  of  the  other. 

"  Right !  right !"  said  the  captain,  shaking  with  laughter ; 
"  search  !  investigate !  find  out,  my  dear  fellow  !" 

"  I  certainly  shall." 

And  pushing  through  the  crowd,  St.  John  gained  the 
door  of  the  apartment.  He  stopped  suddenly. 

In  the  door  of  the  ball-room,  with  the  serene  air  of  one 
who  considers  himself  worth  looking  at,  stood  St.  John's 


240  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

servant,  Julius.  The  negro  wore  a  uniform  exactly  similiar 
to  Mr.  Lindon's.  It  had  been  tossed  to  him  scornfully  by 
his  master,  after  the  scene  at  the  palace,  and  Julius  now 
donned  it  for  the  purpose  of  shining  in  the  eyes  of  his  fellow 
servants. 

Attracted  to  the  door  of  the  ball-room  by  his  natural  love 
for  sight-seeing,  Julius  had  been  seen  by  the  company,  and 
as  neither  Mr.  Lindon  nor  the  guards  were  very  popular, 
the  sight  had  been  greeted  with  uproarious  laughter. 

St.  John  could  not  repress  a  grim  smile  at  the  superb  at 
titude  of  Julius,  but  this  instantly  gave  way  to  displeasure. 
He  advanced  with  a  gathering  frown,  and  the  first  intima 
tion  which  the  sable  gentleman  had  of  the  presence  of  his 
master,  was  the  vigorous  application  of  the  flat  of  a  dress 
sword  to  his  shoulders. 

"  Go  and  take  off  that  suit  this  instant,  rascal !"  said  St. 
John.  "  Go !»» 

Julius  disappeared.  He  did  not  utter  a  word,  or  walk,  or 
run,  he  vanished,  amid  a  peal  of  laughter. 

St.  John  immediately  sought  with  his  eye  for  Mr.  Lin 
don  ;  his  intention  being  to  make  that  gentleman  an  expla 
nation  and  apology.  He  saw  his  rival  glaring  at  him  with  a 
face  pale  with  rage,  but  the  crowd  separated  them.  St. 
John  was  borne  to  the  side  of  Lord  Dunmore. 

"Pray,  what  was  the  occasion  of  that  laughter?"  his 
lordship  was  saying  to  a  gentleman  near  at  hand. 

"  A  strange  spectacle,  my  lord,"  was  the  reply ;  "  't  was 
a  negro  clad  precisely  like  the  lieutenant  of  the  guards,  in  a 
laced  uniform,  with  epaulettes." 

"Are  you  jesting,  sir?"  cried  Dunmore,  with  flashing 
eyes ;  "  the  costume  of  Mr.  Lindon  ?" 

"  Precisely,  my  lord." 

Dunmore's  face  flushed  with  wrath,  and  the  black  vein 
swelled. 

"  Whence  this  impudent  outrage  ?"  he  cried  ;  "  answer 
me,  gentlemen  !  Who  will  explain  this  base  insult  to  my 
self  and  my  authority  ?" 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  241 

"I  will,  my  lord,"  said  St.  John,  approaching  and  bow 
ing.  "  I  regret  to  say  that  I  am  the  cause  of  the  out 
rage." 

"  Ah  you  ! — you,  Mr.  St.  John  !"  cried  the  Governor, 
glaring  on  the  young  man,  almost  speechless  with  rage ; 
"you  again  cross  my  path!" 

"  My  lord,  I  did  not  come  to  be  insulted,  but  to  explain. 
If  you  permit  me,  I  can  do  so  very  briefly." 

And  seeing  that  the  Governor's  wrath  was  too  great  for 
him  to  speak,  he  added  : 

"  The  explanation  is  simple.  Having  resigned  my  com 
mission  in  your  lordship's  service,  I  had  no  further  use  for 
my  uniform,  and  my  servant  fell  heir  to  it,  in  common  with 
all  others  which  I  decide  to  wear  no  longer.  He  has  donned 
the  suit  to-night,  from  a  childish  desire,  no  doubt,  to  excite 
admiration,  I  need  scarcely  say  that  his  intention  was  un 
known  to  me,  and  to-morrow  I  shall  punish  him.  I  am  sorry 
that  I  even  seem  to  have  any  agency  in  so  stupid  and  ill- 
bred  a  jest,  and  shall  explain  to  Mr.  Lindon,  and  entreat 
his  pardon." 

The  young  man  bowed  low  as  he  ended,  and  left  Lord 
Dunmore  as  he  uttered  a  hoarse  growl  of  anger. 

At  the  same  moment,  supper  was  announced,  and  this  im 
portant  event  proved  a  complete  diversion  to  the  company 
from  the  enjoyment  of  the  farce.  But  it  continued  to  be 
food  for  laughter  long  afterward. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE      SECRETARY. 

FOR  a  time,  nothing  was  now  heard  but  the  rattle  of 
plates  and  glasses,  the  crying  of  toasts,  the  buzz  and  laugh 
ter,  which  accompanied  the  process  of  doing  honor  to  the 
profuse  supper. 

11 


242  HESTKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

Then  the  ladies  were  conducted  back  to  the  ball-room, 
the  music  recommenced,  and  the  assembly,  interrupted  only 
for  the  moment,  went  on  its  way  again  in  triumph.  In  those 
times,  a  company  did  not  separate  because  so  slight  a  cir 
cumstance  as  the  sounding  of  midnight  occurred,  and  the 
dancing  began  more  gayly  than  ever. 

St.  John  was  standing  listlessly  looking  on,  when  Captain 
Waters  drew  his  arm  into  his  own,  and  suggested  the  pro 
priety  of  a  glass  or  a  dozen  of  Canary. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  the  captain,  as  they  went  toward  the 
supper  room,  "  my  wife 's  not  here,  and  I  feel  like  a  jolly 
bachelor.  To  let  you  into  a  secret,  my  dear  St.  John, 
Madam  Henriette  's  a  terrible  personage,  and  makes  me  be 
have  myself.  But  who  goes  yonder  ?" 

"  Where  ?» 

"There !     Why  it 's  Foy !     Good  evening,  comrade !" 

And  the  captain  made  a  sign  to  the  secretary,  who,  pale 
and  calm  as  usual,  was  gliding  among  the  revelers.  He 
stopped,  and  returned  the  greeting  of  the  soldier  with  calm 
courtesy. 

"  Why,  I  'm  delighted  to  see  you,"  said  the  captain ; 
"  labors  over  for  the  day  ?" 

"  My  labors,  captain  ?     Good  evening,  Mr.  St.  John." 

St.  John  bowed  courteously. 

"  Yes,  your  writing,"  said  the  soldier ;  "  it  must  be  terri 
bly  trying,  this  thing  of  copying  all  the  Governor's  procla 
mations." 

The  secretary's  keen  eye  rested  steadily  for  a  moment 
upon  the  face  of  his  interlocutor,  and  then  was  withdrawn. 

"  My  work  is  indeed  sometimes  very  exhausting,  sir,"  he 
said. 

" See  there  !"  cried  the  captain,  with  an  innocent  air;  "  I 
said  so !" 

"  You  said,  captain  ?" 

"  Why,  that  this  civil  life  was  terribly  wearisome !" 

The  secretary  inclined  his  head. 

"  And  to  think  that  you  would  n't  believe  me,  my  dear 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  243 

Foy,  when  I  told  you  that  our  old  adventures  were  far  more 
attractive  and  amusing !" 

"  They  were  truly  very  enticing  to  young  men,  as  we  then 
were." 

"  Reinfels  and  all,  comrade !" 

"  Ah !  that  was  a  misfortune,  sir,"  said  Foy,  courteously. 

"  A  misfortune !  morbleu,  comrade,  't  was  no  such  thing. 
It  was  a  splendid  adventure,  and  you  rose,  in  my  opinion, 
immensely  after  that  scene.  I  repeat,  my  dear  Foy,  that  I 
positively  adored  you  for  that  blow  !" 

The  secretary  again  made  his  deprecating  wave  of  the 
hand. 

"  Come  !  no  disclaimers  !  no  modest  expression,  as  of  a 
young  lady,  who  says,  sweetly,  '  You  take  me  very  much  by 
surprise,  sir — really — la !'  I  say,  comrade,  't  was  a  great 
blow,  this  coup  of  Rein/els,  as  I  call  it !  Do  n't  deny  it !" 

"  You  are  very  flattering,  captain." 

"  Not  at  all,  comrade ;  I  'in  merely  just.  And  now  mark 
my  words — are  you  listening  ?" 

"  Yes,  Captain  Waters." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Foy,  in  future  treatises  upon  swordsman 
ship,  after  the  author  has  described  every  imaginable  lunge, 
in  carte,  in  tierce,  in  guard,  semicircle,  octave,  and  flango- 
net — after  all  this,  he  will  write,  '  To  these  must  be  added 
the  coup  used  by  Captain  Foy,  in  his  duel  with  Captain, 
Waters  at  Reinfels,  and  known  as  the  Coup  de  Meinfels  /' 
You  see,  comrade,  't  is  really  indescribable." 

"  Upon  my  word,  Captain  Waters,  you  overwhelm  me." 

"  No,  't  is  the  truth,  and  now  confess  that  't  was  better  to 
be  fighting  over  there,  with  the  jolliest  comrades  to  look 
on,  morbleu,  than  to  be  driving  a  quill  here,  under  the  nose 
of  his  Excellency,  with  such  rascally  spectators  as  this 
Conolly  and  others!" 

The  secretary's  eye  flashed,  and  his  piercing  look  tried  to 
plunge  beneath  the  captain's  laughing  face  and  divine  his 
thoughts.  But  the  soldier  preserved  the  most  innocent  air, 
gazing  at  Foy  with  the  utmost  simplicity  and  good  humor. 


244  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

The  secretary  suddenly  turned  away,  and  retired,  as  it 
were,  into  himself. 

"I  have  seen  Major  Con  oily  at  the  palace,  it  is  true,  Cap 
tain  Waters,"  he  said,  calmly,  "  but  I  have  not  the  honor 
of  his  friendship." 

"A  back- woodsman,  is  he  not  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  sir." 

"  From  Pennsylvania  ?" 

"  I  really  regret  my  inability  to  deliver  any  thing,  with 
certainty,  upon  the  subject,  Captain  Waters  ;  and  now,  with 
your  permission,  I  will  first  see  his  Excellency  a  moment, 
and  then  retire,  as  I  need  rest." 

"  A  moment !"  said  the  captain ;  "  did  you  deliver  my 
message  ?" 

"  Your  message,  sir  ?" 

"  To  his  Excellency,  my  dear  Foy,  about  the  Burgesses, 
you  know.  I  experienced  a  "sentiment  of  real  pride,  yes 
terday,  when  they  were  turned  out  of  the  capitol,  for  you 
will  remember  that  I  requested  you  to  suggest  that  idea  to 
his  Excellency !" 

Under  this  persevering  banter,  the  calm  secretary's  pale 
countenance  did  not  move. 

"  Your  suggestion  escaped  my  memory,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  Ah  !  then  't  was  not  on  my  account  his  Excellency  dis- 
•missed  the  youngsters  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Foy,  you  are  not  my  friend,  and  as  I 
have  not  had  even  the  least  adventure  or  fight  with  his  Ex 
cellency's  handsome  guards,  commanded  by  that  broad- 
shouldered  Mr.  Lindon,  I  'm  in  a  furious  bad  humor.  A 
soldier,  though,  should  not  be  discouraged.  We  may  yet 
have  a  little  encounter — who  knows  ?" 

"  All  things  are  possible,  Captain  Waters,"  said  the  secre 
tary,  calmly ;  "  now  I  must  leave  you,  sir." 

And  with  the  same  impassive  air,  the  pale  gentleman  in 
clined  his  head,  and  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

"  Go  on,  snake !  go  on,  conspirator !"  said  the  captain, 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  245 

looking  after  him  as  he  was  lost  in  the  brilliant  undulations 
of  the  excited  and  uproarious  crowd  ;  "  I  '11  yet  cross  your 
sword,  and  show  you  something  better  than  the  coup  de 
Heinfels  !    Come,  my  dear  St.  John,  let 's  get  a  cup  of 
Canary.    Talking  with  that  fellow  makes  me  choke,  mor- 
leu  /» 
And  they  entered  the  supper  room. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

ST.     JOHN     AND     LINDON. 

ST.  JOHN  had  not  advanced  five  steps  beyond  the  thresh- 
old  of  the  door,  when  he  met  Lindon  face  to  face. 

The  eyes  of  that  gentleman  were  fixed  upon  him  with  an 
expression  of  rage  and  menace  which  fairly  made  them 
blaze. 

Lindon  seemed  to  hesitate  between  two  courses — to  throw 
into  Mr.  St.  John's  face  the  glass  of  wine  which  he  held  in 
his  hand,  or  publicly  strike  and  outrage  him. 

A  glance  at  the  cold  and  resolute  countenance  of  the 
young  man,  however,  seemed  to  deter  him  from  pursuing 
either  of  these  courses,  and  instead,  he  advanced  two  steps, 
and  made  a  low  and  exaggerated  bow. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  am  glad 
that  at  last  I  have  found  you." 

"  Looking  for  me  ?"  said  St.  John,  with  cold  politeness. 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"  Pray  for  what  purpose,  if  I  may  venture  to  ask  ?" 

Lindon  looked  around,  and  seeing  that  the  crowd  were 
completely  absorbed  in  drinking  healths  and  dispatching 
the  viands,  advanced  another  pace  toward  St.  John,  and 
said, 

"I  was  looking  for  you  in  order  to  join  me  in  making 
some  arrangements,  sir." 


246  HENET  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

"  Arrangements  ?"  said  St.  John ;  "  pray  explain  yourself, 
Mr.  Lindon." 

"  You  do  not  understand?" 

"  I  am  very  stupid  this  evening,  and  must  beg  you  to  ex 
plain." 

Lindon  raised  his  head  with  haughty  anger,  and  said, 

"  The  arrangements  I  desire,  sir,  are  those  to  be  made  be 
tween  my  friend,  Captain  Foy,  his  Excellency's  private  secre 
tary,  and  a  gentleman  designated  by  yourself." 

"Oh!  a  duel!"  said  St.  John,  coldly,  "you  mean  a 
duel?" 

"  Precisely,"  said  Lindon,  bowing  ceremoniously,  and  bit 
ing  his  lip  to  hide  his  wrath,  "  you  have  understood  me  at 
last,  sir." 

St.  John  returned  the  cold  gaze  with  a  look  as  cold,  and 
said, 

"  May  I  ask,  Mr.  Lindon,  why  you  consider  it  necessary 
to  take  my  life,  or  for  me  to  take  yours  ?" 

"  That  is  wholly  unnecessary !" 

"  Pardon  me,  I  think  it  is." 

"Mr.  St.  John,  do  you  refuse  my  defiance?  Do  you 
first  bide  yourself,  and  when  you  are  found,  retreat !  I 
say  retreat,  sir!  I  have  been  looking  for  you,  and  I 
thought  it  was  only  necessary  to  find  you.  Am  I  mis 
taken,  sir?" 

A  flash  darted  from  the  young  man's  eyes,  and  he  raised 
his  head  with  an  air  so  proud,  that  it  far  exceeded  the  state- 
liness  of  his  adversary.  For  a  moment  he  made  no  reply 
to  these  words,  but  controlling  himself  at  length,  said, 
calmly, 

"  I  also  have  been  looking  for  you,  sir." 

"  Good !  then  we  understand  each  other  perfectly !" 

"  No,  sir,  I  think  not." 

"  Sir  ?" 

"  You  sought  me  to  deliver  a  defiance — " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"While  I  sought  you  to  make  you  an  apology." 


HENKY   ST.   JOHST,    GENTLEMAN.  247 

An  expression  of  profound  incredulity  came  to  Lindon's 
face,  and  then  this  look  gave  way  to  one  of  the  deepest  con 
tempt. 

"  I  am  glad  I  spoke,"  he  said,  with  a  curling  lip,  "  before 
you  had  an  opportunity  of  addressing  me.  I  will  accept  no 
apologies !  I  reject  them  in  advance !  I  have  delivered  my 
defiance,  and  I  will  not  withdraw  it !" 

St.  John  listened  to  these  insulting  words  with  an  air  of 
stupefaction  almost.  He  seemed  scarcely  to  realize  that  fa 
tuity  could  proceed  so  far. 

"  Mr.  Lindon,"  he  said,  at  length,  with  eyes  which  seemed 
to  blaze,  "  are  you  demented,  out  of  your  senses,  lunatic,  or 
is  it  your  intention  to  act  a  comedy  ?" 

"Sir!"- 

"  I  said  simply  that  I  sought  you  to  make  you  that  apolo 
gy  which  is  due  from  one  gentleman  to  another  whose  feel 
ings  he  has  unintentionally  been  the  cause  of  wounding. 
Stop,  sir !  Before  this  interview  proceeds  further  I  will  make 
that  apology  in  spite  of  your  insults.  Another  word  such 
as  you  have  just  uttered  will  seal  my  lips.  I  have  therefore 
the  honor  to  say,  sir,  that  I  had  no  part  in  the  stupid  jest  of 
that  servant  this  evening,  whose  presumption  it  is  my  inten 
tion  to  punish.  I  persist  in  making  the  explanation,  that 
the  use  of  that  uniform  by  my  servant  was  wholly  without 
my  knowledge  or  consent — an  explanation  due  to  myself, 
inasmuch  as  I  will  not  suffer  you  or  any  one  to  think  that 
I  was  guilty  of  so  ill-bred  and  puerile  an  action.  Now, 
sir,  I  am  not  accustomed  to  make  apologies;  I  would 
much  rather  decide  differences  otherwise.  If,  after  this 
full  and  complete  explanation,  you  stilt  persist  in  your  de 
fiance — " 

"  I  do !"  said  Lindon,  trembling  with  anger ;  "  your  state 
ment  may  be  true,  or  it  may  be  untrue ;  in  either  event  I 
hold  you  responsible  at  the  sword's  point !" 

St.  John  stood  for  a  moment  pale  and  silent,  confronting 
his  insulting  opponent.  He  scarcely  seemed  to  realize  that 
hatred  could  go  so  far  upon  a  basis  so  trifling. 


248  HE]*BY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

"  Well,  sir !'»  said  Lindon,  "  do  you  intend  to  show  the 
white  feather  ?" 

St.  John  turned  paler  than  ever,  and  his  eyes  filled  with 
blood. 

"  Mr.  Lindon,"  he  said,  sternly, "  I  will  first  ask  you  a  ques 
tion." 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  Are  you  mad,  or  intoxicated  ?" 

"  No,  sir !  I  am  neither !  I  am  thirsty,  sir,  however,  for 
your  blood!" 

"  For  my  blood  ?  Then  you  take  advantage  of  this  trifle 
to  insult  me  and  break  down  my  patience." 

"I  do!" 

"  You  do  not  fight  for  the  cause  you  have  specified  ?" 

"No,  sir!" 

"  Pray,  why,  then  ?" 

"  Ask  yourself,  sir !" 

"  Mr.  Lindon,  you  will  pardon  me,  but  your  conversation 
is  either  stupid,  or  you  are  fond  of  enigmas — your  real 
reason,  sir!" 

"Ask  yourself,  I  repeat!"  said  Lindon,  pale  with  rage ; 
"  I  suppose  you  have  not  humiliated,  laughed  at,  triumphed 
over  me  yonder  sufficiently  !" 

"  I  sir  ?  I  humiliated  you,  triumphed  over  you !"  said  St. 
John,  in  profound  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  sir !  your  air  of  innocence  and  surprise  does  not 
dupe  me !  I  am  not  to  be  tricked  by  so  shallow  a  device !" 

The  profound  and  violent  passion  of  the  young  man's  na 
ture,  upon  which  he  had  heretofore  placed  a  resolute  curb, 
began  to  rise  and  foam,  as  he  listened  to  these  repeated  in 
sults. 

"  You  then  design  to  force  me  to  fight  you  about  noth 
ing  !"  he  said,  with  increasing  anger. 

"  Yes !"  was  the  reply. 

"You  refuse  to  tell  me  any  rational  grounds  for  your 
quarrel." 

"  I  do,  sir !  If  you  choose  to  ignore  the  fact  that  you  have 


HENKY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  249 

supplanted  me,  laughed  at  me,  made  me  a  jest  in  your  con 
versation  with  a  young  lady  to  whom  I  have  paid  my  ad 
dresses,  then  I  give  no  reason !  If  you  choose  to  put  on  a 
mask,  and  act  your  part,  and  pretend  ignorance,"  he  con 
tinued,  white  with  rage,  "  then  I  will  not  explain  myself!  If 
you  refuse  to  regard  the  words  which  I  now  utter  in  your 
hearing  as  sufficiently  insulting,  I  will  make  them  more  dis 
tinct  and  unmistakeable !  If  no  word  of  insult  will  move 
you,  and  induce  you  to  give  me  that  satisfaction  which 
you  rightfully  owe  me,  then  I  '11  'throw  this  glass  of  wine 
in  your  face,  sir !  and  we  '11  see  if  that  outrage  will  arouse 
you !" 

St.  John  advanced  a  step,  with  a  countenance  as  pale  as 
death,  in  which  his  dark  eyes  burned  like  coals  of  fire. 

"  Enough,  sir !"  he  said,  in  a  voice  low  and  distinct ;  "  you 
have  accomplished  your  purpose,  which  was  doubtless  to 
drive  me  beyond  all  patience.  We  had  better  pause  at  the 
words,  sir.  Were  you  to  move  your  arm  to  throw  that 
wine-glass  in  my  face,  I  should  kill  you  where  you  stand. 
I  have  the  honor,  sir,  to  place  myself  entirely  at  your 
orders.  My  friend,  Captain  Waters,  will  doubtless  act  for 
me." 

And  taking  a  step  backward,  the  young  man  bowed  with 
cold  ceremony,  and  was  silent.  An  expression  of  fierce 
satisfaction  diffused  itself  over  his  adversary's  face  and  he 
also  bowed  low. 

"Really,"  said  Captain  Waters  in  the  most  cheerful  voice, 
"  't  is  delightful  to  see  an  affair  conducted  in  this  elegant 
way  !  Will  I  act  for  you,  my  dear  St.  John  ?  Why  cer 
tainly  I  will ;  and  now  I  have  the  honor  to  inform  Mr.  Lin- 
don,  that  my  dear  friend,  Captain  Foy,  or  other  gentleman 
representing  him,  will  find  me  all  day  to-morrow  at  the 
Raleigh  tavern.  Eh  ?  Is  that  satisfactory  ?" 

"  Perfectly,"  said  Lindon,  haughtily ;  "  you  shall  hear  from 
Captain  Foy." 

"  Good !"  said  the  soldier  in  a  friendly  tone ;  "  that  is  ex 
cellent!  Morbleu!  'twill  give  me  absolute  delight  to  act 

11* 


250  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN". 

with  Foy.  Who  knows  but  he  '11  take  a  hand  himself?  And 
then  hurrah  for  the  coup  of  Reinfels  /" 

The  captain's  spirits  seemed  to  have  risen  immensely,  and 
he  curled  his  moustache  with  an  air  of  the  proudest  satisfac 
tion. 

"  Come,  my  dear  St.  John,"  he  said,  "  as  this  little  affair 's 
arranged,  let  us  get  our  Canary  and — " 

"  No,  I  believe  I  '11  return,  captain,  but  I  won't  take  you. 
I  may  count  on  you  ?" 

"To  the  death!" 

"  Then  I  will  see  you  to-morrow." 

"  I  '11  arrange  all  duly.  Come  dine  at '  Flodden'  and  I  '11 
report  to  you.  Is  it  understood  ?" 

St.  John  nodded,  and  they  parted.  His  interview  with 
Lindon  had  passed  unnoticed  almost. 

The  crowd,  in  the  midst  of  their  uproar  and  revelry,  had 
only  seen  two  men  holding  an  animated  conversation,  ter 
minating  in  a  ceremonious  bow.  So  sees  the  world. 

As  St.  John  left  his  side,  the  captain  muttered,  with  a 
smile, 

"  Lieutenant  St.  John  and  Lieutenant  Lindon !  Captain 
Waters  and  Captain  Foy !  Why  the  affair  arranges  itself 
morbleu!" 

And  he  twirled  his  long  black  moustache  with  joyous  ar 
dor. 

As  St.  John  appeared  in  the  dancing  room,  the  assembly 
was  coming  to  an  end.  It  terminated  with  a  reel,  as  usual, 
and  the  manner  in  which  the  ladies  whirled  round  in  their 
great  hooped  skirts,  or  darted  from  end  to  end  of  the  apart 
ment,  was  marvelous  to  behold.  More  than  one  pile  of 
curls  lost  the  pearl  loops  and  comb  which  held  them,  and 
fell  in  raven  or  golden  showers  on  snowy  shoulders,  sending 
on  the  air  a  storm  of  perfumed  powder.  But  the  accident 
was  unheeded — the  reel  overthrows  the  influence  of  cere 
mony,  and  they  danced  on  carelessly  until  the  long  scrape 
of  the  musician's  bow  gave  the  signal  that  the  assembly  was 
at  an  end. 


HENEY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN-.  251 

It  was  the  expiring  compliment  to  royalty  in  Virginia. 
It  was  sent  upon  its  way  that  evening  with  a  "  Joy  go  with 
you !"  and  the  most  stately  bows  and  curteseys ;  the  next 
ball  in  which  the  representatives  of  England  were  concerned, 
was  opened  on  the  battle-field. 

It  was  a  singular  celebration,  coming  as  it  did  between 
the  seditious  assemblage  of  Burgesses,  in  the  Raleigh,  in 
the  morning,  and  the  fasting,  humiliation,  and  prayer  of 
the  first  of  June.  This  last  recommendation  of  the  Bur 
gesses  was  widely  responded  to,  and  the  gentlemen  and  la 
dies  of  the  colony  went  into  mourning  on  that  day,  and  heard 
a  sermon,  and  fasted,  and  prayed  for  the  liberties  of  the 
land,  threatened  by  the  Boston  Port  bill.*  In  the  old  church 
of  Williamsburg,  the  patriotic  clergyman  did  not  mind  the 
presence  of  the  frowning  Governor,  and  spoke  without  minc 
ing  his  words. 

Two  hours  after  the  breaking  up  of  the  assembly,  St. 
John  was  looking  pensively  through  his  window,  when  he 
saw  a  light  glimmer  in  a  window  opposite,  and  in  an  instant 
Bonnybel  appeared  in  the  luminous  circle  of  rays. 

The  figure  of  the  young  lady,  clad  in  her  night  dress  of 
snowy  white,  was  visible  for  an  instant  only.  A  white  arm 
was  raised,  the  falling  sleeve  of  the  robe  leaving  it  bare,  and 
the  extinguisher  plunged  the  whole  into  darkness. 

"  I  am  fond  of  emblematics,"  muttered  the  young  man, 
with  his  sardonic  smile,  beneath  which  was,  however,  con 
cealed  bitter  pain  and  melancholy,  "  and  here  I  have  one 
that  suits  my  case  admirably  1  I  beam  my  brightest  for  her, 
and  think  that  she  values  me  somewhat,  when  down  comes 
the  extinguisher !  I  am  put  out  at  a  word !  Well,  so  let 
it  be !  I  have  something  else  on  my  hands  now.  I  need 
rest  for  to-morrow." 

And  without  further  words,  he  retired  to  bed. 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXXII. 


252  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER   XLVin. 

ST.     JOHN     GOES     TO     "FLODDEN." 

ON  the  next  morning,  St.  John  made  the  Vanes  a  visit,  at 
Mr.  Harwell's,  and  found  them  all  ready  to  depart.  The 
chariot  was  at  the  door. 

To  the  cordial  invitation  of  the  colonel  to  return  with 
them,  the  young  man  responded  by  saying  that  he  had 
"  important  business,"  which  might  detain  him  some  days ; 
he  would  come  as  soon  as  was  possible.  Few  words  passed 
between  himself  and  Bonnybel,  and  these  were  very  formal 
and  constrained.  So  they  departed. 

The  young  man  then  turned  his  thoughts  to  another  sub 
ject.  We  have  seen  that  he  had  appointed  with  Captain 
Waters  to  come  and  dine  with  that  worthy,  and  hear  the 
result  of  the  negotiations  with  Foy,  and  toward  the  cap 
tain's,  which  was  up  the  river,  he  now  directed  his  way, 
mounted  on  "  Tallyho,"  who  cantered  on  gayly,  and  soon 
left  Williamsburg  in  the  far  distance. 

A  ride  of  an  hour  brought  St.  John  in  front  of  a  fine  old 
building  crowning  a  bluff  of  the  James,  and  surveying,  from 
its  lofty  position,  the  wide  expanse  of  field,  and  stream,  and 
forest. 

This  was  "Flodden,"  the  residence  of  Captain  Ralph 
Waters,  and,  far  off,  across  the  river,  on  a  lofty  hill  toward 
the  west,  the  young  man  discerned  the  walls  of  his  own 
house,  "  Flower  of  Hundreds,"  embowered  in  the  spring 
foliage,  and  glittering  in  the  fresh  light  of  morning. 

St.  John  had  scarcely  drawn  rein  at  the  door  of  "  Flod 
den,"  when  the  voice  of  Captain  Waters,  from  within  the 
hall,  greeted  him  jovially,  and  the  next  moment  saw  the 
figure  of  the  soldier  advance,  with  a  smile  of  welcome  on 
the  bold  features. 

St.  John's  horse  was  led  away,  and  they  entered. 

"  Why,  here  you  are  as  punctual  as  a  clock,  morbleu  /" 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  253 

cried  the  captain;  "delighted  to  see  you  on  this  glori 
ous  morning.  Faith !  it  makes  a  man  laugh  in  spite  of 
him !» 

And  the  captain  performed  that  ceremony  with  great 
gusto.  When  the  worthy  soldier  laughed  he  seemed  sun- 
ply  to  carry  out  the  design  for  which  his  features  were 
moulded,  as  we  have  said  elsewhere  in  speaking  of  him. 

His  bold  and  vigorous  nature  appeared  to  find  food  for 
laughter  in  every  thing,  and  his  clear  eyes  looked  the  whole 
world  in  the  face  with  careless  good  humor. 

"A  fine  animal  that?"  said  the  captain,  gazing  at  "Tal- 
lyho,"  as  he  was  led  away,  "  and  I  see  Selim's  blood  plain  in 
him." 

"  You  are  right,  captain." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  seldom  am  any  thing  else  in  regard  to 
horses." 

"  And  as  to  men  ?" 

"  Well !"  said  Captain  Waters,  curling  his  moustache,  "  I 
judge  them  tolerably  too.  There 's  Foy,  now,  thinks  he  's 
duping  your  humble  servant,  and  preserves  the  most  mys 
terious  air  about  things  I  'm  perfectly  acquainted  with. 
Really,  a  perfect  snake  in  the  grass  is  that  Foy  !" 

And  the  captain  curled  his  moustache  downward,  a  sign 
of  disdain  with  him  always. 

"  You  have  seen  him  of  course,"  said  St.  John,  "  as  he 
acts  for  Mr.  Lindon  ?" 

"  Why,  certainly,  my  dear  fellow,"  returned  the  captain, 
"  and  we  had  the  most  charming  little  interview  you  ever 
heard  of.  Wait  till  we  're  alone,  after  dinner,  comrade,  and 
I  '11  tell  you  how  it  was." 

"  Good !  I  '11  listen  with  pleasure,  and  I  'm  not  curious  at 
present.  Tell  me  when  we  've  dined." 

"  Count  on  that,  man  ami,  and  now  let 's  go  see  madam 
and  the  bonpere." 

"  With  pleasure !" 

Madam,  whom  the  captain  addressed  also,  from  time  to 
time,  as  Henriette,  was  an  extremely  handsome  dame  of 


254  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

about  thirty,  perhaps  a  year  or  two  more,  and  carried  her 
self  with  an  air  of  the  most  aristocratic  ease.  Two  little 
girls  played  on  the  carpet  at  her  side,  and  a  little  boy  was 
busy  on  a  wooden  horse  in  the  distance. 

Opposite  this  domestic  group  sat  old  John  Waters,  the 
captain's  father,  in  his  wide,  softly-cushioned  chair,  with  his 
benignant  smile,  his  gray,  thin  locks,  and  his  empty  pipe 
carelessly  resting  against  his  knee. 

Mrs.  Waters  advanced,  with  her  courtly  and  graceful 
ease,  to  press  St.  John's  hand,  the  old  man  rose  erect  in  his 
chair,  and  smiled  more  benignantly  than  ever,  and  even  the 
little  girls  rose  too,  and  came,  bashfully  peering  from  their 
showers  of  golden  curls,  to  receive  their  share  of  the  young 
man's  attention. 

It  was  only  Captain  Ralph  Waters,  jr.,  that  somewhat 
petted  and  spoiled  young  gentleman,  who  paid  no  attention 
to  the  visitor. 

"  See  the  domestic  and  touching  group !"  said  the  captain ; 
"  the  hen  in  the  midst  of  her  chickens ;  the  dame  partlet 
scratching  and  clucking.*' 

Madam  Henriette  shook  her  handsome  head,  threatening 
ly,  at  this  address,  and  said, 

"  Well,  sir,  and  pray  what  are  you.?" 

"  I  'm  a  rooster,"  observed  the  captain  with  great  candor ; 
"  you  see,  my  dear  partlet,  I  fought  the  Frangais  so  long, 
and  heard  the  crowing  of  the  Gallic  cock  so  often,  that  mor- 
blcu!  I  've  turned  to  a  rooster  completely." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  like  to  crow  over  us  poor  women  ?" 

"  Exactly." 

"Is  he  not  a  shameful  man,  Mr.  St.  John?"  said  the  lady, 
laughing ;  "  he  has  not  the  least  regard  for  our  feelings." 

"  Your  feelings,  madam  ?" 

"  Yes ;  only  the  other  day  I  requested  him  to  buy  me  a 
set  of  pearls  at  Rowsay's,  in  town,  and  he  absolutely  re 
fused." 

"  Is  it  possible,  captain  ?"  said  St.  John ;  "  could  you  re 
sist  ?" 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  255 

"Yes,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  captain,  heaving  a  sigh,  "I 
was  hard-hearted  to  that  extent." 

"  You  acknowledge  it  then  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"Is  that  not  dreadful,  Mr.  St.  John?"  said  the  lady; 
"  there  is  only  one  excuse  that  he  gives ;  can  you  divine 
it?" 

"  No  indeed." 

"  This  excuse  is,  that  he  bought  me  some  diamonds !  It 
is  true  that  the  diamonds  cost  ten  times  as  much  as  the 
pearls,  and  I  greatly  preferred  them,  and  said  so.  But  he 
knew  that  I  did  not  wish  to  be  so  extravagant,  and  like  an 
unfeeling  man,  he  went  and  bought  the  diamonds !" 

The  captain  looked  guilty  and  conscience-stricken — his 
expression  of  remorse  was  affecting. 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  do  not  thus  expose  my 
failings  to  the  public.  Ventrebleu  /  I  'm  ashamed,  but  you 
see  diamonds  have  always  attracted  me  since — " 

The  captain  paused. 

"  Since  when,  sir  ?" 

"  Since  I  won  your  heart  with  that  diamond  necklace,  my 
dear  Henriette !"  replied  Captain  Waters,  with  simplicity, 
"  some  time  in  the  good  year  '65, 1  think." 

At  this  charge,  madame  seemed  to  be  actually  over 
come  by  indignation.  Her  work  dropped  upon  her  knee, 
she  gazed  steadily  at  her  enemy,  and  then  burst  into 
laughter. 

"Mr.  St.  John  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me,"  she  said, 
struggling  with  her  mirth,  "but  this  gentleman,  Captain 
Waters,  always  sets  me  off!  Look  at  him  there,  everlast 
ingly  playing  with  that  horrid  moustache,  stooping  in  his 
shoulders,  and  pretending  to  be  dreaming,  as  he  thrums  on 
his  chair.  Just  look !" 

"  Dreaming  ?"  said  the  captain ;  "  was  I  dreaming  ma 
chere  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  were !"  cried  Mrs.  Henriette,  laughing. 

"  I  believe  I  was,"  said  the  captain,  whose  bold  face  grew 


256  HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

suddenly  very  sad,  "I  was  thinking  of  those  good  old  times, 
and  our  Beatrice." 

The  martial  head  drooped,  and  for  a  moment  there  was 
silence. 

The  lady's  face,  too,  had  passed  from  smiles  to  sadness — 
from  mirth  to  pensiveness. 

"  *Eh  Men  /"  said  the  captain,  heaving  a  sigh  ;  "let  us  not 
rake  in  the  ashes  for  those  buried  memories.  I  '11  dream  no 
more,  but  rather  light  the  bon  pere's  pipe.  Eh  ?  Shall  I, 
mon  pere  ?" 

The  old  man  assented  with  a  smile  and  a  nod,  and  the  lady 
laid  down  her  work  and  went  and  arranged  the  cricket  for 
his  feet  in  the  kindest  and  most  attentive  way. 

The  little  girls  then  leaned  on  grandpa's  knee  to  see  the 
brilliant  glow  in  the  bowl  of  the  pipe,  and  then  the  old  man 
was  left  alone  to  his  dreams,  and  Captain  Waters  and  his 
friend  strolled  out  through  the  grounds,  talking  of  every 
thing  but  the  real  subject,  which,  by  general  consent,  had 
been  deferred. 

Thus  passed  the  morning  at  Flodden. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

HOW   CAPTAIN   KALPH   WATERS   FULFILLED    HIS    MISSION. 

"  Now,  my  dear  comrade,"  said  the  captain,  when  he  and 
St.  John  were  alone  over  their  wine,  "  now  we  can  come  to 
our  little  arrangements,  and  I  can  report  progress." 

"  Thanks,  my  dear  captain,"  replied  St.  John,  "  and  first, 
what  time  is  fixed  on  ?" 

"  To-morrow  morning." 

"  The  place  ?» 

"  Jamestown  island.     Have  you  any  objection  ?" 

"  None  captain,  though  I  was  there  lately  upon  a  more 
agreeable  errand." 


« 

HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  257 

"  Well,  that 's  settled  then ;  but  I  '11  proceed  more  in  order 
and  tell  you  how  I  set  to  work — shall  I  ?" 

"  It  will  interest  me." 

"  Well,"  said  the  captain,  filling  his  glass  and  pushing 
the  bottle,  "  I  was  at  the  Raleigh  tavern  duly  as  I  informed 
Monseigneur  Lindon,  and  I  duly  received  a  visit  from 
Foy— » 

"  A  strange  second,  is  he  not  ?" 

"  Why  no— how  ?" 

"  He  looks  so  peaceful  ?" 

"  You  do  n't  know  him,  mon  ami /  he 's  a  perfect  take- 
in,  that  Foy  is — a  real  sword  blade,  ventrebleu  !  Well  Foy 
came  and  we  made  each  other  the  lowest  and  most  courte 
ous  bow.  You  see  we  are  both  of  us  old  hands  at  this 
business,  and  we  went  at  it  like  ducks  to  water.  '  My  dear 
Foy,  is  it  so  and  so  ?'  '  Yes,  my  dear  captain,'  bowing4 
smiling,  as  amicable  as  two  ganders  hissing  and  wagging 
their  beaks  at  each  other." 

St.  John  smiled. 

"Then  every  thing  was  easily  arranged?" 

"  By  no  means." 

"Explain  yourself." 

"  With  pleasure.  Foy,  you  see,  was  in  favor  of  going  out 
of  the  province  to  fight — " 

"  Out  of  the  province !" 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  little  touchy  about  Dunmore,  and  so  the 
conversation  was  something  like  the  following.  I  listen  to 
his  proposition,  smiling  politely,  and  the  first  remark  I  make 
is,  '  My  dear  Foy,  are  you  afraid  ?' 

" '  Afraid,  sir  ?'  he  says,  coldly ;  '  I  am  not  accustomed  to 
feel  afraid !' 

" '  Oh  well,  my  dear  comrade,  do  n't  be  offended,'  I  re 
plied,  'it  really  did  seem  to  me  that  this  looked  something 
like  fear — of  his  Excellency.' 

" '  His  Excellency  is  not  my  master,  Captain  Waters.' 

" '  Really,  now,  is  he  not  ?' 


258  HESTRY   ST.   JOHST,    GENTLEMAN. 

" '  No,  sir !'  this  observation  being  uttered  with  a  sort  of 
flash  out  of  the  eyes,  you  see. 

"'Oh,  my  dear  comrade,'  I  say,  'just  see  now  how  you 
are  deprived  of  that  praise  which  is  justly  your  due !  'T  is 
whispered  everywhere  that  it  is  his  Excellency  who  really 
employs  Conolly  in  his  rascally  mission  to  embroil  the  bor 
derers,  and  that  you  are  only  the  instrument  he  uses,  when 
in  fact  you  are  all  the  while  head  man.'  " 

"Why,  captain,"  said  St.  John,  smiling,  "that  seems  to 
me  nothing  more  nor  less  than  an  insult !" 

"  Precisely,  mon  ami,"  said  the  captain,  cheerfully,  "just 
so." 

"  You  wished  to  insult  Captain  Foy  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?" 

"  In  order  that  a  little  affair  might  be  hatched  between 
him  and  myself." 

"Ah!  indeed!" 

"Exactly,  my  dear  fellow.  Ventrebleu !  you  have  no 
idea  how  many  overtures  I  have  made  to  Foy  in  order  to 
draw  him  into  a  quarrel.  But  he  won't  take  offense." 

"  Your  object  ?    Do  you  hate  him  ?" 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Why  then—" 

"  Wish  to  fight  him  ?  Simply  because  I  wish  to  put  an 
end  to  his  maneuvers !  I  do  hate  Dunmore,  and  by  run 
ning  Foy  through  the  gizzard,  you  see,  I  disable  his  Excel 
lency's  right  arm  to  the  shoulder  blade." 

The  cheerful  way  in  which  Captain  Waters  unfolded  these 
views  was  admirable  to  behold. 

"  I  'm  merely  a  rude  soldier,  you  see,  mon  ami,"  he  con 
tinued,  "  but  having  learned  diplomacy  on  the  continent,  I 
practice  it  here.  That  was  my  object  then  in  drawing  Foy 
out,  and  I  thought  I  had  him  that  time  !" 

"  What  did  be  reply  ?" 

"  Well,  for  a  moment  he  said  nothing.  You  sec,  I  had 
said  that  he  ought  to  have  the  praise  of  employing  Conolly 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  259 

on  that  rascally  mission,  and  I  waited,  smiling,  for  him  to 
insult  me  again." 

"  Did  he  fail  to  ?" 

"  Point  blank.  I  was  all  ready — getting  my  hand  ready 
to  take  off  my  hat  and  bow,  and  say,  '  Well,  when  shall  we 
settle  our  little  difference,  comrade  ?'  In  a  word,  I  looked 
for  an  explosion.  It  never  came.  Foy  only  looks  at  me 
with  those  wicked  eyes,  and  says, '  I  have  already  disclaimed 
more  than  a  passing  acquaintance  with  Major  Conolly,  Cap 
tain  Waters — let  us  return  to  our  affair.' 

"  '  In  an  instant,  directly,  my  dear  comrade,'  I  say  polite 
ly,  'but  first  tell  me  one  thing.' 

" '  What  is  that,  sir  ?'  ^ 

" '  Is  it  really  true,'  I  continued,  smiling,  '  that  Conolly 
has  oi'ders  from  Dunmore,  or  his  tools  in  Williamsburg,  to 
promise  the  Indians  assistance  from  his  Excellency,  if  they 
make  an  inroad  and  massacre  the  people  on  the  Virginia 
borders  ?' 

"  As  I  say  this,  Foy's  eye  flashes  worse  than  ever,  and 
his  thin  lips  contract.  He  advances  a  step,  frowning. 

" '  Captain  Waters,'  he  says,  '  do  I  look  like  a  man  who 
is  fond  of  being  insulted  ?' 

"  '  Why  no,  comrade.' 

" '  Do  I  look  like  a  man,'  he  continues,  does  this  red-hot 
Foy !  '  who  would  leave  his  sword  in  its  scabbard  if  it  was 
possible  to  draw  it  ?' 

" '  No,'  I  reply,  '  and  whether  you  look  so  or  not,  I  know 
you  can  use  it,  and  have  the  will,  companion.' 

"  '  Well,  sir,'  he  says,  with  real  dignity,  hang  him !  '  well, 
sir,  if  I  do  not  cram  down  your  throat  the  insults  you  have 
addressed  to  me,  you  may  understand  that  I  refrain  simply 
because  my  hands  are  bound  for  the  present  by  the  office  I 
hold,  otherwise,  Captain  Waters,'  he  adds,  bowing,  *  it  would 
give  me  immense  pleasure  to  cut  your  throat !'  Those  were 
his  very  words." 

And  the  soldier  burst  out  laughing,  in  which  laughter  St. 
John  united. 


260  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

"  You  see,  after  that,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  the  captain,  "  I 
could  not  add  another  insult." 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  In  fact  I  positively  adored  Foy  after  that  reply !  He 
looked  so  gallant,  when  he  said  it !  he  touched  his  left  side, 
where  a  sword  ought  to  have  been,  with  such  an  air !  he 
was  so  cool,  and  elegant,  and  ferocious,  when  he  mentioned 
his  desire  to  cut  my  throat,  that  I  could  have  embraced  him 
as  a  brother !" 

The  captain  twirled  his  moustache  with  admiration  to  his 
very  eyes  as  he  spoke,  and  seemed  lost  in  delighted  contem 
plation. 

"  Well,"  said  St.  John,  laughing,  "  after  that  the  interview 
was  more  friendly  ?" 

"  Friendly !  I  believe  you !  After  that  it  was  positively 
fraternal !  Then  it  was  that  we  came  to  resemble  two  high 
bred  geese,  nodding  our  heads,  and  uttering  *  Ah's !'  and 
'  Oh's !'  and  '  By  no  means  !'  and  'Really  captain's !'  You 
oujrht  to  have  seen  us !  We  would  not  overcome  each  other ; 

o  * 

we  could  not  force  each  other  to  accept  what  each  wanted. 
It  was, 

" '  Really,  my  dear  Captain  Waters,  it  must  be  Jamestown 
island,  as  you  wish  !' 

"  '  No,  upon  my  honor,  my  dear  Foy,  it  shall  be  out  of 
the  province,  as  you  desire  !' 

" '  I  never  can  consent  to  inconvenience  such  a  gallant 
man !' 

"  '  I  never  should  hold  up  my  head  again  if  I  forced  such 
a  noble  gentleman  as  you,  my  dear  Foy,  to  quarrel  with  his 
Excellency !'  It  was  this,  that,  the  other,  no,  yes,  really, 
truly !  At  last  I  yielded,  and  to  see  how  Foy  pressed  my 
hand  you  would  have  thought  I  had  done  him  the  greatest 
favor  in  the  world. 

"  *  I  shall  not  quarrel  with  his  Excellency,  captain,'  he 
says,  smiling,  '  and  I  have  already  said  he  is  not  my  mas 
ter.' 

"  '  Do  n't  allude  to  my  miserable  rudeness,  comrade"    I 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  261 

reply ;  '  it  wounds  me  to  the  heart,  and  I  shall  shed 
tears.' 

"  'That  is  all  forgotten,  captain,'  says  Foy ;  *  a  mere  jest. 
Bo  not  think  that  I  shall  suffer  from  engaging  as  second  in 
a  combat  to  take  place  at  Jamestown  island.  His  Excel 
lency  will  not  inquire  very  closely,  for  you  know,  my  dear 
Captain  Waters,'  adds  Foy,  with  a  tiger  smile, '  you  know  my 
principal,  Mr.  Lindon,  is  a  perfect  master  of  every  weapon, 
and  he  '11  be  sure  to  kill  Mr.  St.  John !  You  will  under 
stand,  in  the  present  state  of  affairs  between  Mr.  St.  John 
and  his  Excellency,'  adds  Foy,  smiling,  '  that  Mr.  Lindon  or 
myself  will  not  be  very  severely  scolded  !'  " 

"  Pshaw,  captain  !"  said  St.  John,  "  your  hero  turns  out 
a  boaster,  and  a  mere  blood-thirsty  calculator  of  chances !" 

"  Certainly !  Do  n't  you  comprehend  that  all  his  bowing 
and  smiling  was  acted  ?" 

"Eh?" 

"  Nothing  less,"  returned  the  captain.  "  Foy,  mon  ami  ! 
is,  by  nature,  as  great  a  comedian  as  that  celebrated  little 
Garrick  I  saw  in  London.  I  know  him  well — but,  to  finish." 

"  Yes,  let  us  hear  the  rest." 

"  I  will  be  more  brief.  The  weapons  then  came  up,  and 
we  had  some  discussion  as  to  the  length  and  other  points. 
There  was  no  real  difficulty,  because  both  you  and  Mr.  Lin 
don  prefer  swords.  So  that  was  arranged,  and  I  engaged  to 
provide  them  of  exactly  the  same  length.  It  is  the  ordinary 
length,  and  I  '11  show  them  to  you  directly.  Then  the  hour 
of  seven,  to-morrow  morning,  was  fixed  on,  and  we  parted, 
mutually  pleased  with  each  other.  My  only  hope  with  Foy 
now  is  to  drive  him  into  insulting  me,  and  then  of  course  he 
can't  refuse  my  challenge.  I  would  cheerfully  pay  five 
hundred  pounds  to  have  him,  for  ten  minutes,  at  arm's 
length !" 

Having  expressed  himself  cheerfully  to  this  effect,  Cap 
tain  Waters  emptied  his  glass,  and  suggested  a  stroll  on 
the  lawn. 

The  young  man  rose,  and  the  captain  led  the  way  out. 


262  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  St.  John  should  remain  at  Flod- 
den  for  convenience,  and  accompany  his  host  in  his  own 
carriage,  and  every  detail  being  thus  determined  on,  even 
down  to  the  hour  to  awake,  the  subject  was  for  the  moment 
dismissed. 


CHAPTER  L. 

THE     FUGITIVE. 

THE  two  friends  made  the  circuit  of  the  lawn,  and  had 
reached  the  broad  gate,  when  a  man,  riding  at  full  speed, 
drew  up  suddenly  before  them  and  inclined  his  head. 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  inform  me,  sir,"  he  said, 
addressing  the  captain  who  was  foremost,  "  whether  this  is 
the  road  to  the  town  of  Richmond  ?" 

"  It  is,  sir,"  replied  the  soldier ;  "  and  you  have  only  to 
follow  it  and  you  '11  soon  arrive  at  that  place." 

"  And  that  other  road  branching  off  ?"  asked  the  horse 
man,  extending  his  hand,  and  at  the  same  moment  looking 
over  his  shoulder. 

"  That  leads  to  New  Kent  Court  House,  to  Hanover,  or 
King  William,  and  so,  west." 

"Thanks,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  hurriedly,  and  with  an 
other  glance  over  his  shoulder,  he  struck  spurs  into  his 
horse,  and  departed  at  a  rapid  gallop. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  followed  him,  and  they  saw  him 
turn  into  the  road  to  New  Kent,  disappearing  in  an  instant 
in  the  pines. 

The  captain  shook  his  head. 

"  There 's  something  wrong  about  this  gentleman,  mon 
ami,"  he  said ;  "  something  lies  beneath  this,  take  my  word 
for  it !  But  I  could  n't  refuse  to  reply  to  a  civil  question." 

"  No — and  I  agree  with  you.    Who  could  it  be,  captain  ?" 

"  Faith,  I  can't  imagine  !  If,  now,  it  had  occurred  on  the 
continent — " 


HENBY  ST.  JOHK,  GENTLEMAH.  263 

"  What  ?» 

"  Why,  I  should  have  set  our  rapid  cavalier  down  for  a 
king's  messenger.  But,  you  know,  we  do  n't  have  kings  on 
the  western  continent,  a  circumstance  for  which  I  do  n't 
mind  saying  I  'm  grateful,  comrade. 

"  They  're  a  poor  set  of  fellows,"  added  the  soldier ;  "  I  've 
seen  many  and  never  admired  one.  You  see,  my  dear  fel 
low,  they  are  shams,  and  they  know  it ;  from  his  gracious 
Majesty  George  III.,  defender  of  the  faith,  et  cetera,  down 
to  his  royal  highness  of  Poland,  a  post  which  my  friends, 
General  Littlepage,  and  Captain  Charles  Lee,  very  nearly 
occupied.  I  'm  glad  they  did  n't  lower  themselves ;  and 
these  are  my  views !  Who  the  devil  could  this  horseman 
have  been  ?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you." 

"Well,  well,  let  him  goon;  I  care  nothing,  morbleuf 
As  Effingham  says,  my  friend  Champ,  yon  know,  *  't  is  all  in 
the  game,'  and  so  he  may  go  on !" 

Having  reached  this  extremely  philosophical  conclusion, 
the  captain  twirled  his  moustache,  and  led  the  way  back  to 
the  mansion,  which  he  and  his  companion  entered. 

They  had  scarcely  disappeared  when  three  horsemen,  rid 
ing  at  full  speed,  shot  by  the  gate  on  the  track  of  the  fugi 
tive. 

They  bent  in  their  saddles  as  they  rode,  and  evidently 
examined  the  highway  for  the  marks  of  hoofs,  by  which  they 
seemed  to  follow  and  track  their  game. 

Coming,  in  a  moment,  to  the  cross  road  leading  to  New 
Kent,  which  the  fugitive  had  taken,  they  suddenly  drew  up, 
and  one  of  them  dismounted. 

It  was  the  stranger,  the  friend  of  St.  John. 

"  Friends,"  he  said,  in  his  calm,  deep  voice,  "  he  has  not 
followed  the  high  road  further.  Here  are  his  footprints ; 
he  has  turned  off  toward  the  court  house.  Come  !" 

And  getting  into  his  saddle  again,  he  took  the  lead,  and 
the  whole  troop  disappeared  in  the  foliage. 

Let  us  follow  them. 


264  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

They  darted  on,  at  full  speed,  for  more  than  a  mile,  and 
then,  reaching  the  summit  of  a  hill,  distinctly  perceived  the 
fugitive  ascending  another  hill,  at  full  gallop,  half  a  mile  in. 
advance  of  them. 

"  Look !"  cried  the  stranger ;  "  there !  see !  we  shall  ar 
rest  him !" 

And  digging  the  spur  into  his  horse's  side,  he  darted  on 
ward,  taking  the  lead  of  his  companions. 

The  solitary  horseman  had  turned  in  his  saddle  and  seen 
them,  and  a  gesture  of  rage  and  despair,  visible  even  at  the 
great  distance,  showed  how  much  he  feared  the  encounter. 

The  pursuers  rode  furiously  for  another  mile,  and  entered 
the  somber  woodland  of  pines,  whose  summits  were  now 
gilded  by  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

With  bent  heads,  as  they  rode  at  full  gallop,  the  stranger 
and  his  companions  scanned  the  road,  to  convince  them 
selves  that  the  fugitive  had  not  turned  aside  into  the  wood 
land. 

The  tracks  continued  in  the  center  of  the  road,  and  they 
pushed  on  at  full  speed. 

Nearly  five  miles  thus  ran  from  beneath  the  rapid  feet  of 
their  horses,  and  still  the  tracks  held  the  center  of  the  high 
way. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  riders  stretched  out  his  hand,  and 
said,  "  Look !» 

Two  hundred  yards  before  them,  a  horse  without  a  rider 
was  flying  onward,  and  panting  heavily  as  he  ran. 

The  stranger  uttered  a  growl,  as  it  were,  of  disappoint 
ment,  and  drew  rein  suddenly. 

"  He  has  dismounted  and  escaped  into  the  woods !"  he 
said,  calmly  ;  "  we  need  not  further  follow  the  highway." 

The  three  horsemen  drew  up,  and  with  the  heads  of  their 
animals  thus  touching,  held  a  rapid  consultation  with  the 
stranger. 

It  was  quickly  decided  that  each  should  take  different 
directions,  and  beat  the  whole  country  for  traces  of  the 
fugitive. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  265 

"  Be  alert,  friends !  do  not  stop !  do  not  sleep !"  said  the 
stranger,  whose  fiery  eyes  plunged  into  the  woodland,  upon 
which  the  shades  of  night  were  rapidly  descending ;  "  it  is 
of  the  first  importance,  as  you  know,  that  this  man's  dis 
patches  shall  be  secured  !  It  will  be  for  us  a  powerful  en 
gine  !  Come  !  to  work !  forward !  We  may  still  arrest 
him  on  his  way." 

And  the  three  horsemen  separated,  each  taking  different 
ways. 

The  dark  pines  received  them,  and  they  disappeared  like 
shadows,  the  sound  of  their  hoofs  dying  away  in  the  somber 
depths,  from  which  nothing  was  heard  but  the  cries  of  night 
birds,  and  the  harsh  murmur  of  frogs  in  the  swampy,  low 
grounds. 

As  they  disappeared,  a  pile  of  brushwood,  deep  in  the 
woodland,  stirred  slightly,  a  man's  head  rose,  and  seeing 
that  the  coast  was  clear,  the  man  emerged  from  the  brush, 
and  listened. 

"  Well  gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  a  sinister  smile  which 
made  his  eyes  glitter  in  the  starlight,  "  I  have  escaped  your 
toils,  I  think,  and  you  will  probably  have  an  agreeable  time 
of  it  beating  the  bushes  of  the  country-side  here.  I  have 
my  papers  all  safe  here  in  my  breast,  most  worthy  patriots, 
and  there  they  will  remain  for  the  present.  I  shaU  only  ar 
rive  at  Fort  Pitt  a  little  later,  and  our  affairs  will  not  suffer. 
It 's  odds  if  I  do  not  pay  you,  and  the  people  of  Virginia 
generally,  for  this  h'ttle  night  ride  !" 

He  paused  a  moment  and  listened. 

"  All  is  still,"  he  said,  "  and  now  it  only  remains  to 
get  another  horse.  That's  easy,  as  my  pockets  are  well 
lined  by  his  lordship !  Come  !  let  us  not  despair  ;  I  trust 
in  the  doctrine  of  chances,  and  they  've  seldom  failed 
me!" 

Having  thus  spoken,  the  fugitive  turned,  resolutely, 
deeper  into  the  woodland,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the  dark 
ness. 

12 


266  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

The  man  who  thus  escaped  with  his  papers  of  such  great 
importance,  was  Major  Conolly,  secret  agent  of  Lord  Dun- 
more  in  embroiling  the  border  and  arousing  the  Indian  tribes 
against  the  people  of  the  Virginia  frontier.* 


CHAPTER  LI. 

HEB     ONLY     FAILING. 

ON  the  next  morning,  after  a  sound  night's  rest  on  the 
captain's  part,  and  much  tossing  to  and  fro,  in  his  dreams, 
on  St.  John's,  the  friends  met  and  greeted  each  other. 

Madam  Henriette  met  them  with  a  smile. 

"  Where  in  the  world  are  you  going  so  early  ?"  she  said 
to  her  husband ;  "  breakfast  is  ready — but  why  set  out  so 
soon  ?" 

The  captain  saw  that  his  wife  was  dying  with  curiosity,  but 
he  only  smiled ;  he  did  not  reply. 

"  This  is  not  court  day,  I  believe,  Mr.  St.  John  ?" 

"  No,  madam,  I  think  not." 

"  Does  any  thing  of  interest  take  place  in  town  this  morn 
ing?" 

"  I  have  not  heard,  madam." 

"  Then  where  in  the  world  are  you  going,  Captain  Waters  ? 
You  really  are  the  most  provoking — " 

"  My  dear  Henriette — " 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  I  think  you  said  that  breakfast  was  ready  ?" 

The  lady  pouted,  and  said  that  it  was. 

"  Then,  with  your  leave,  we  will  proceed  to  eat  it.  Ven- 
tre  bleu  !  I  'm  as  hungry  as  a  hawk  after  all  that  sleep  !" 

And  the  captain  led  the  way  into  the  breakfast  room,  and 
did  the  honors  of  his  board. 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXXIII. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  267 

Thereafter,  his  carriage  was  ordered  at  once,  and  he  and 
St.  John  put  on  their  hats. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  that  bundle  they  are  putting  in  the 
carriage  ?"  said  Mrs.  Henriette. 

"  Are  they  putting  a  bundle  in  the  carriage  ?"  said  the 
captain,  with  interest. 

"  Yes,  you  see  they  are !" 

"Well,  so  they  are." 

And  the  captain  put  on  his  gloves. 

"When  will  you  be  back?"  asked  the  lady  thus  constant 
ly  foiled. 

"  Do  n't  know,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Where  can  you  be  going  ?" 

"  Did  you  say  it  was  a  fine  morning,  my  dear  St.  John  ? 
Why  glorious !" 

"  Captain  Waters  !"  said  the  lady,  with  an  imperious  little 
stamp  of  the  foot. 

"  Did  you  speak,  my  dear  ?"  said  the  soldier. 

"  Yes,  sir !  I  asked  you  to  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  where 
you  and  Mr.  St.  John  are  going  ?" 

"  Why  yes !"  said  the  captain,  "  certainly,  my  dear." 

"  Yes,  what,  sir  ?" 

"  The  moon  is,  most  probably,  green  cheese." 

The  captain  uttered  these  words  with  a  cheerful  and 
smiling  air,  which  caused  Mrs.  Henriette  to  pat  her  little 
foot  with  impatience  and  vexation. 

"  I  think  it 's  very  cruel  in  you !"  she  said,  pouting. 

The  captain  twirled  his  moustache  absently. 

"  Won't  you  please  tell  me  ?" 

The  captain  smiled. 

"  Won't  you  tell  your  Henriette,  Ralph  ?"  said  the  lady, 
with  an  entreating  air,  and  leaning  on  his  shoulder. 

The  captain's  lip  curled  with  smiles. 

"  You  know  it 's  so  simple — -just  a  word,"  she  said,  coax- 
ingly ;  "  won't  Ralph  tell  his  Henriette  ?" 

The  captain  smiled  again  and  ended  by  laughing. 

"I  think  I  can!"  he  said,  absently. 


268  HENBY    ST.  JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

"  Tell  me,  my  dear !    I  thought  you  would !" 

"  I  'm  sure  I  can !"  continued  the  soldier,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  vacancy. 

"  Certainly  nothing  is  more  proper,  Ralph,  to  your  own 
loving  wife !" 

The  captain  woke,  as  it  were,  from  his  dream. 

"  What  is  that,  my  love  ?"  he  said ;  "  do  you  agree  witli 
me  that  it 's  proper  ?  But  what  do  you  know  about  such 
things  ?  You  can't  tell  whether  Foy  will  resign  his  secre 
taryship." 

"  You  were  not  listening  to  me  then,  sir !"  said  Mrs.  Hen- 
riette,  imperiously. 

"  No,  my  love." 

"  You  did  not  hear  me  ?" 

"  Have  you  been  speaking  ?" 

"  You  are  a  disgraceful  husband,  sir !" 

"  Why  ?"  asked  the  captain,  cheerfully. 

"  Because  you  will  not  tell  me,  or  even  listen.  But  you 
shall  tell  me  where  you  're  going  with  Mr.  St.  John,  sir !" 

"  Well,  my  love." 

"  You  are  outrageous !" 

"  So  I  am,  ma  chere  /" 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"To  Jericho." 

"Captain  Waters!" 

"  Madam !» 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  Take  the  air !" 

The  lady,  flushed  with  vexation,  and  half-threatening, 
half-laughing,  caught  away  the  captain's  hat. 

"  You  shall  tell  me  ?"  she  said,  laughing. 

The  captain  recovered  his  hat,  and  bursting  into  respon 
sive  laughter,  cried, 

"Away,  parilet!  silence,  hen  !  Go  make  the  bibs  and 
tuckers  for  the  chickens,  and  do  n't  meddle  with  the  roost 
er's  private  matters !" 

The  captain  then  squeezed  Mrs.  Henriette's  cheeks  with 


HENKY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  269 

his  fingers,  gallantly  ravished  a  kiss,  and  followed  by  his 
friend,  got  into  the  carriage. 

"  That 's  a  charming  wife  of  mine,  my  dear  hoy,"  he  said, 
as  they  rolled  rapidly  on  their  way ;  "  though  slightly  sub 
ject  to  curiosity,  her  only  failing.  Well,  well,  let's  be 
charitable !  And  now,  man  ami,  I  will  give  you  my  views 
upon  the  subject  of  Lindon's  style  of  fencing.  Let  us  com 
pare  views." 

The  captain  then  proceeded  to  enter  at  length  upon  his 
favorite  topic,  and  he  was  still  speaking  when  they  reached 
the  low  peninsula  of  Jamestown. 

The  soldier  referred  to  his  timepiece. 

"Just  seven,"  he  said,  "and  here  come  Foy  and  Lin- 
don." 


CHAPTEE  LII. 

THE    COMBAT:    BED    AND    WHITE   EOSES. 

THE  two  carriages  arrived  almost  at  the  same  moment, 
and  the  hostile  parties,  as  they  issued  forth,  made  each  other 
a  low  bow. 

Lindon  was  superbly  dressed,  but  Captain  Foy  wore  his 
customary  suit  of  black,  fitting  qjosely  to  his  slender  and 
nervous  figure. 

Around  his  waist  was  buckled  a  plain  sword,  with  yellow 
leather  accoutrements,  the  whole  very  much  worn. 

Captain  Waters  had  no  sooner  accomplished  his  bow, 
than,  assuming  a  most  engaging  smile,  he  pointed  to  the 
weapon  of  the  secretary,  and  said, 

"  Do  n't  I  recognize  an  old  friend  there,  comrade  ?  It 
seems  to  me  that  sword  is  not  new  to  me,  and  I  even  think 
it  once  ran  into  my  body,  did  it  not  ?" 

Captain  Foy  made  a  modest  gesture,  and  said,     . 

"  Let  us  forget  our  youthful  contentions,  Captain  Waters ; 
they  are  of  no  importance  now." 


270  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

"  But  really,  I  'm  curious,"  said  the  captain ;  "  did  you 
not  wear  that  sword — " 

"  At  Reinfels  ?  Yes,  sir.  'T  is  an  old  companion,  with 
whom  I  'm  loth  to  part.  Shall  we  now  proceed  to  make 
our  arrangements  ?" 

"  With  pleasure ;  here  are  the  swords." 

The  bundle  was  unwrapped,  and  the  weapons  were  mea 
sured. 

"  Exact  to  an  inch,  these  two,"  said  Captain  Waters,  "  and 
you  may  take  either." 

"  Thanks,  captain,  I  accept  this." 

And  Foy  took  one  of  the  swords,  and  critically  examined 
its  point. 

He  then  made  it  whistle  to  and  fro  in  his  vigorous  and 
nervous  grasp,  listening  if  the  blade  clicked  in  the  hilt. 

The  examination  seemed  to  satisfy  him  perfectly,  and 
making  his  opponent  another  bow,  he  said, 

"  I  find  this  weapon  perfect,  Captain  Waters,  and  we  may 
now  proceed  to  business,  as  the  position  of  these  gentlemen 
is  already  determined  upon,  north  and  south  with  the  sun." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  comrade ;  you  really  fill  me  with  admira 
tion,  and  make  me  remember  old  times.  Could  n't  we  have 
a  little  bout  now,  after  this  event  is  through ;  a  mere  friendly 
pass  or  two  ?" 

"  I  would  rather  not,  captain ;  you  might  wound  me,  and 
I  can  not  afford  to  lose  my  time  now,  having  much  to  attend 
to." 

"  You  retain  your  post  of  secretary  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

The  captain  sighed. 

"  My  dear  Foy,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  give  you  five  hundred 
pounds  if  you  '11  resign." 

"  I  regret  to  say  that  't  is  impossible  for  me  to  accept 
your  offer,  Captain  Waters.  Shall  we  proceed  ?" 

"  Of  course,  of  course  !" 

And  the  captain  examined  St.  John's  sword  as  carefully 
as  his  opponent  had  tested  Lindon's. 


HESTKY   ST.  JOHK,   GENTLEMAK.  271 

He  then  raised  his  head,  and  making  a  motion  with  his 
hand, 

"  Foy,"  he  said,  "  a  moment  yet  before  we  commence." 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

"  Is  your  secretaryship  the  obstacle  in  the  way  of  that 
friendly  little  affair  I  proposed  ?" 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  I  offered  you  five  hundred  pounds  to  resign,  did  I  not  ?" 

"  I  believe  so,  sir." 

"  And  you  refused  ?" 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  still  refuse  ?" 

« Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  offer  you  a  thousand  !" 

"  Captain  "Waters,"  said  the  secretary,  smiling  grimly, 
*'  if  you  proceed  any  further  you  will  make  me  laugh,  and 
as  laughter,  upon  an  occasion  like  the  present,  is  not  becom 
ing,  I  must  beg  you  to  desist.  I  regret  extremely  that 't  is 
not  in  my  power  to  resign  my  commission  in  his  Excel 
lency's  service  at  the  present  time.  If,  however,  that  event 
occurs,  I  shall  most  assuredly  inform  you,  and  willingly 
permit  you  to  take  advantage  of  it  in  the  way  you  pro 
pose." 

Captain  Foy  bowed  as  he  spoke,  and  indicated  that  he 
was  ready. 

Waters  shook  his  head. 

"  My  dear  comrade,"  he  said,  sighing,  "  that  was  always 
your  way.  You  talk  so  eloquently,  and  turn  your  periods 
with  such  melodious  art,  that  a  poor  camp  devil  like  myself, 
morbleu,  can't  answer  you,  and 's  obliged  to  yield.  I  will, 
therefore,  say  no  more,  except  that  I  most  thankfully  accept 
your  offer,  and  will,  on  the  proper  occasion,  gladly  avail 
myself  of  it." 

And  turning  to  hand  Mr.  St.  John  his  sword,  Captain 
Waters  muttered  to  himself, 

"  Ah,  rascal !  ah,  rascally  second  of  a  rascally  principal, 
if  faces  do  n't  deceive  me !  I  '11  yet  split  your  forked  tongue 


272  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

still  wider,  and  pull  your  fangs,  and  stop  you  forefinger  and 
thumb  from  writing  instructions  for  Conolly  !" 

"  What  did  you  say,  my  dear  captain  ?"  asked  Foy. 

"I  observed,  my  dear  friend,  that  it  was  a  charming 
morning,  and  that  I  was  filled  with  happiness  at  meeting 
again,  on  this  congenial  occasion,  with  a  comrade  for  whom 
I  have  so  great  an  affection  as  yourself.  I  foresee,  if  we 
ever  kill  each  other  't  will  be  from  a  pure  love  of  art,  not 
from  bad  blood,  and  so,  if  you  choose,  we  '11  proceed." 

With  these  words,  accompanied  by  the  most  agreeable 
smiles,  Captain  Waters  went  to  the  side  of  his  friend,  who 
was  calmly  looking  forth  upon  the  beautiful  river,  and  signi 
fied  to  him  that  every  preliminary  of  the  combat  was  now 
arranged. 

The  young  man  coolly  took  his  weapon,  and  leaned  the 
point  upon  his  boot. 

"  All 's  ready,  my  dear  St.  John,"  the  captain  said,  "  and  I 
have  only  to  add  a  word.  Lindon  is  as  fresh  as  a  lark ;  he  's 
taken  perfect  care  of  himself,  and,  therefore,  I  advise  you 
not  to  stand  on  the  defensive  with  a  view  to  weary  him. 
Better  lunge  from  the  first,  and  I  think,  from  the  way  he 
carries  his  elbow,  your  best  lunge  will  be  in  carte." 

"Thanks,  captain,"  said  St.  John;  "I  shall  simply  en 
deavor  to  protect  myself,  having  not  the  least  desire  to  shed 
this  gentleman's  blood.  If  that  is  necessary,  however,  I 
shall  not  hesitate,  having  been  forced  into  the  whole  aflair, 
and  being  quite  at  my  ease." 

The  captain's  countenance  filled  with  pleasure. 

"My  dear  St.  John,"  he  said,  "you  will  kill  him!  I 
know  you  will !  I  compliment  you !" 

"  Why,  captain  ?" 

"  You  are  cool  as  ice,  and  now  let  us  get  to  business."   , 

Captain  Foy  signified  at  the  same  moment  that  Mr. 
Lindon  was  ready,  and  the  opponents  confronted  each 
other. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Captain  Waters,  "  we  now  permit  ydn 
to  proceed,  unless  the  party  from  whom  the  insult,  on  this 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  273 

occasion,  has  issued,  shall  make  full  and  ample  apology  for 
the  same,  retracting  the  said  insult,  and  entreating  pardon 
of  his  opponent." 

Lindon  made  a  haughty  movement,  but  Captain  Foy 
answered  for  him. 

"  It  is  with  great  regret  that  we  must  decline  such  apol 
ogy,"  said  the  secretary ;  "  unfortunately  there  is  no  possi 
bility  of  any  such  thing." 

"  You  persist  ?"  said  Captain  Waters. 

"  We  have  the  honor,"  said  Captain  Foy. 

"  Well  then  the  affair  will,  of  course,  proceed.  There  is 
absolutely  no  alternative.  This  affair,  gentlemen,  as  I  need 
scarcely  say,  has  arisen  from  a  difference  of  opinion  upon  the 
quality  of  the  Canary  supplied  to  the  late  assembly,  Mr.  St. 
John  having  declared  the  said  Canary  wretched,  and  un 
worthy  to  be  drunk  by  a  gentleman,  Mr.  Lindon  having 
taken  the  opposite  view,  and  offered  Mr.  St.  John  a  glass, 
which  that  gentleman  declined.  I  confess  I  see  no  means  of 
bringing  about  a  community  of  sentiment  but  the  sword,  and 
so,  Captain  Foy,  we  are  ready  !"  . 

"  And  we,  sir — proceed,  gentlemen  !" 

The  two  men  raised  their  swords  quickly,  and  the  weapons 
crossed. 

The  seconds  retired  ten  paces  and  looked  on. 

Lindon  was  perfectly  fresh,  and,  as  his  sword  touched  his 
opponent's,  his  eyes  flashed  with  gratified  hatred. 

St.  John  was  perfectly  calm  and  cool. 

Lindon  advanced  furiously  and  made  a  mortal  thrust  at 
his  opponent,  which  was  parried  perfectly. 

The  next  moment  they  closed  in  a  violent,  deadly,  breast- 
to-breast  struggle,  the  swords  glittering  in  what  seemed  in 
extricable  confusion,  but  really  the  perfection  of  skill  and 
method. 

Both  the  seconds  advanced  at  once,  crying  "  Gentlemen  ! 
gentlemen  !" 

The  combatants  stopped  and  drew  back  —  Lindon  pale 
with  rage,  St.  John  growing  gradually  hot. 

12* 


274  HENKY    ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

"  Gentlemen !"  said  Captain  "Waters,  with  affecting  earn 
estness,  "  you  really  move  me  to  the  heart,  and  wound  my 
sense  of  propriety  cruelly,  in  which  I  am  sure  I  also  utter 
the  sentiments  of  my  friend,  Captain  Foy !  In  Heaven's 
name  do  n't  make  a  dagger  fight  of  an  honorable  encounter 
with  swords  before  seconds !  Let  us  commence  again,  gen 
tlemen,  and  spare  our  feelings,  I  beseech  you." 

The  captain  was  evidently  greatly  affected  as  he  spoke, 
and  Foy  said, 

"I  beg,  gentlemen,  that  you  will  observe  the  sugges 
tion  of  Captain  Waters.  It  is  no  less  just  than  feelingly 
expressed." 

The  two  men,  whose  blood  was  completely  aroused,  waited 
with  impatience  for  the  signal  to  proceed. 

The  word  was  given,  and  they  threw  themselves  upon 
each  other  with  the  ferocity  of  tigers. 

Lindon  made  his  former  lunge  with  a  fury  which  indi 
cated  the  height  of  his  rage.  St.  John  again  parried  it  per 
fectly. 

For  ten  minutes  then  they  fought,  not  like  two  civilized 
men  opposed  to  each  other,  but  like  blood-thirsty  gladia 
tors  on  the  arena,  in  a  mortal  combat. 

The  two  men  were  as  nearly  matched  as  possible,  and  the 
incessant  clash  of  the  weapons,  from  which  darted  flashes 
like  lightning,  proved  the  immense  skill  and  strength  of  the 
enemies. 

Suddenly  St.  John  struck  his  foot  against  a  stone,  and 
thrown  off  his  guard  for  an  instant,  could  not  parry  the  fu 
rious  lunge  of  his  opponent. 

The  point  of  Linden's  sword  appeared  streaming  with 
blood  behind  the  young  man's  back,  and  at  the  same  instant 
his  own  weapon  was  buried  in  his  enemy's  shoulder. 

Lindon's  weapon  broke  at  the  hilt,  and  the  two  combat- 
tants  fell,  dragging  each  other  to  the  ground. 

The  seconds  ran  and  pulled  them  asunder,  and  raised  them 
to  their  feet. 

Leaning  on  the  shoulders  of  Captain  Waters  and  Captain 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.      .  275 

Foy,  the  two  men  gazed  at  each  other  with  flashing  eyes  and 
crimson  cheeks,  breathing  heavily,  and  clutching  at  their 
weapons. 

"  Your  sword !  Give  me  your  sword,  Captain  Foy,"  cried 
Lindon,  faintly,  "  I  '11  finish  him !" 

Foy's  hand  moved  to  his  weapon. 

"  Captain  Foy,"  said  "Waters,  "  if  you  hand  that  weapon 
to  your  principal  I  '11  run  you  through  the  body,  and  him 
too,  upon  my  honor !" 

"Let  him  have  it!"  said  St.  John,  hoarsely,  his  breast 
streaming  with  blood.  "  Your  sword,  sir  !" 

"  He  shall  not !"  cried  Captain  Waters,  "  't  is  three  inches 
longer  than  yours." 

Foy  moved  to  draw  the  weapon. 

"  Well  comrade !"  said  Waters,  "  if  that 's  the  use  you  're 
going  to  make  of  it,  nothing  could  delight  me  more!  I 
have  been  pleading  for  the  favor.  Captain  Foy,  I  have  the 
honor  to  salute  you  and  to  place  myself  entirely  at  your 
orders !" 

With  these  cold  words,  Captain  Waters  drew  his  sword 
and  confronted  his  opponent. 

Foy's  hand  left  the  hilt  of  the  weapon,  and  a  keen  flash 
of  his  proud  eye  showed  how  reluctantly  he  yielded. 

"  No  sir,"  he  said,  coldly,  "  there  shall  be  no  need  of  the 
encounter  you  propose.  I  recognize  the  propriety  of  your 
objection  to  the  further  progress  of  this  affair,  and  I  agree 
with  you  that  it  is,  for  the  present,  at  an  end." 

As  he  spoke,  Captain  Foy  turned  to  Lindon,  who  was 
deadly  pale,  and  staunched  the  deep  wound  in  his  shoulder 
with  his  white  handkerchief,  which  he  bound  round  it. 

He  then  assisted  Lindon,  who  could  scarcely  stand  alone, 
to  his  carriage,  and  turning  to  bow  to  Captain  Waters,  or 
dered  the  driver  to  drive  to  Williamsburg. 

Captain  Waters  then  gave  his  whole  attention  to  St. 
John. 

The  young  man  had  stretched  out  his  hand  and  plucked 
a  little  white  rose  from  a  sweet  briar,  rustling  in  the  river 


276  •       HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

breeze — just  such  an  one  as  Bonnybel  had  pulled  to  pieces 
on  that  morning — and  looking  now  at  the  flower,  he  seemed 
to  think  of  the  girl. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there,  comrade  ?"  said  the  soldier, 
"  what  is  that  ?" 

"  Only  a  flower,  captain,"  he  said  faintly. 

"  A  flower !»» 

"  Yes,  a  rose,  and  here  is  another — a  red  one." 

With  which  St.  John  endeavored  to  point  to  the  circular 
blood-stain,  gradually  extending  upon  his  white  linen  bos 
om. 

As  he  spoke,  the  captain  felt  the  young  man's  form  weigh 
heavily  upon  his  arm;  and  the  head  fell  like  a  wounded 
bird's. 

He  had  fainted. 

Captain  Waters  was  one  of  those  men  who  act  promptly. 
He  took  the  young  man  in  his  arms,  and  carrying  him 
like  a  child,  to  the  edge  of  the  stream,  deluged  his  fore 
head  with  the  cool  water. 

•  He  then  laid  the  pale  form  upon  the  green  sward,  and 
tearing  violently  away  the  frill  at  bis  own  breast,  proceeded 
to  bare  the  bosom  of  the  wounded  man,  and  probe  the 
wound. 

Lindon's  sword  had  struck  upon  a  letter,  written  on  thick 
Bath  post,  and  thus  diverted  from  its  point  blank  direction 
toward  the  heart,  had  traversed  the  flesh  and  muscles  com 
pletely  through  to  the  back. 

The  wound  was  more  painful  than  dangerous,  except  from 
the  profuse  flow  of  blood. 

Captain  Waters  bound  it  up  with  the  rapidity  and  skill 
of  an  experienced  hand,  and  St.  John  opened  his  eyes. 

"How  do  you  feel  now,  comrade  ?"  said  the  soldier,  kneel 
ing,  and  holding  up  the  young  man's  head. 

"A  little  faint,"  was  the  reply.  "Where  am  I,  cap 
tain  ?» 

"You  are  on  the  grass,  companion,  with  a  bad  flesh- 
wound,  which  talking  makes  worse  ;  and  the  motion  of  the 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  277 

carriage  will  be  worse  still  for  it,  morbleu  !  Miserable  day 
that  it  is !" 

And  the  soldier  groaned. 

The  young  man  pointed  with  his  finger  to  the  stream. 

The  captain  looked,  and  saw  a  sail-boat  passing. 

"  I  will — go — to  Flower  of  Hundreds — captain,"  said  St. 
John,  faintly. 

The  soldier  gently  deposited  his  burden  upon  the  sward 
again,  and  hastening  to  the  point  of  the  island  running  out 
into  the  stream,  hailed  the  boatman. 

In  fifteen  minutes  the  young  man  was  being  borne  in  the 
little  bark  toward  Flower  of  Hundreds,  his  head  supported 
upon  the  breast  of  Captain  Waters. 

He  still  held  the  small,  white  flower  in  his  hand,  and  Bon- 
nybel's  letter  had  not  left  his  breast. 


CHAPTER  Lin. 

THE  NEWS  BEACHES  VANELY. 

IN  the  old  drawing-room  at  Vanely,  through  whose  open 
windows  a  fresh  breeze  wafts  in  an  odor  of  green  leaves, 
and  flowers,  and  fruit  trees,  full  of  perfumed  blossoms,  sit 
the  young  ladies  of  the  family,  busily  engaged  on  some  or 
namental  work,  and  in  entertaining  Mr.  Alston  and  a  certain 
Mr.  Hamilton. 

Mr.  Hamilton  is  a  rubicund  widower  who  has  come — he 
says — to  see  Colonel  Vane  on  business  ;  but  not  finding  that 
gentleman  at  home,  is  disconsolate,  and  is  compelled  to  talk 
with  Miss  Seraphina.  He  calls  frequently  "  on  business  with 
Colonel  Vane." 

Mr.  Alston  does  not  mask  his  designs  with  any  such  plea 
— he  does  not  conceal  the  fact  that  he  has  come  "  to  shake 
the  tree,"  or  in  other  words,  to  pay  his  addresses  to  Miss 
Helen,  who  seems  far  from  being  ofiended  by  it. 


278  HENBY    ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

For  the  moment,  however,  honest  Tom  is  talking  with 
Miss  Bonnybel.  He  leans  over  her,  and  says,  with  a  gentle 
smile, 

"  Pray  what  enchanting  little  affair  is  that,  Miss  Bonny 
bel  ?  The  wedding  dress  of  a  fairy  princess  ?" 

Bonnybel  appears,  of  late,  to  have  lost  much  of  her  old 
vivacity.  She  scarcely  smiles  as  she  replies : 

"  It  is  only  a  cuff.  I  thought  I  would  make  them  myself 
instead  of  giving  them  to  Miss  Carne." 

"  Miss  Carne  ?  pray  who  is  that  ?" 

"  I  forgot — you  've  not  seen  her.  She 's  a  seamstress 
whom  we  brought  from  town  with  us.  There  she  is  at  the 
door." 

Mr.  Alston  turns  his  head  and  makes  a  slight  movement, 
as  he  sees  before  him  the  remarkable  head.  Miss  Carne  is 
an  Italian-looking  woman,  with  a  brunette  complexion,  black 
hair,  and  deep,  penetrating  eyes.  She  is  undeniably  hand 
some,  standing  in  her  submissive  attitude  with  folded  hands ; 
but  there  is  something  repelling  in  her  air  and  appearance. 

"  Have  you  laid  out  the  pieces,  Miss  ?"  she  said,  with  a 
slight  Italian  accent;  "I  am  ready  to  go  on  with  the 
dress/' 

Bonnybel  gave  her  some  directions,  and  she  disappeared 
as  she  came,  without  noise. 

"  A  singular  face,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  "  but  I  do  not  like  it. 
She  is  undoubtedly  beautiful,  but  not  prepossessing.  Well, 
that  is  scarcely  a  matter  of  importance.  Pray  whose  is  this 
delightfully  perfumed  epistle?"  adds  Mr.  Alston,  smiling, 
and  raising,  as  he  does  so,  from  the  table  an  embossed 
paper. 

"  'T  is  Aunt  Seraphina's  verses,"  says  Helen,  smiling  de 
murely  ;  "  ask  her  to  let  you  read  them." 

"  Coming  from  such  a  source,  they  must  be  indeed  per 
fect,"  says  the  gallant  Jack  Hamilton,  with  an  ogle. 

In  spite  of  Miss  Seraphina's  objections,  Mr.  Alston  reads 
aloud, 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  279 

A  LADY'S  ADIEU  TO  HER  TEA  TABLE. 

"  Farewell  to  the  Tea  Board,  with  its  gaudy  equipage 
Of  Cups  and  Saucers,  Cream  Bucket,  Sugar  Tongs, 
The  pretty  Tea  Chest,  also,  lately  stored 
"With  Hyson,  Congo,  and  best  Double  Fine. 
Full  many  a  joyous  moment  have  I  sat  by  ye, 
Hearing  the  Girls  Tattle,  the  Old  Maids  talk  Scandal, 
And  the  spruce  Coxcomb  laugh  at,  may  be,  nothing. 
No  more  shall  I  dish  out  the  once  loved  Liquor, 
Though  now  detestable  to  all  at  Vanely, 
Because  I  'm  taught  (and  I  believe  it  true), 
Its  Use  will  fasten  slavish  Chains  upon  my  Country, 
And  LIBERTY  's  the  Goddess  I  would  choose 
To  reign  triumphant  in  AMERICA!" 

"Bravo!"  cried  honest  Jack;  "I  have  rarely  heard  such 
verses !  Permit  me,  my  dear  Miss  Seraphina,  to  have  them 
put  in  the  '  Gazette.'" 

"  O,  I  never  could  consent,"  murmurs  Miss  Seraphina,  in 
confusion. 

"  Genius  must  be  treated  with  gentle  force,  my  dear 
madam,"  says  Mr.  Hamilton ;  "  I  '11  strike  out  the  words, 
'  to  all  at  Vanely,"  and  all  the  colony  shall  admire  you.' 

That  the  gentleman  carried  out  his  threat  is  proved  from 
the  fact  that  we  have  taken  the  verses  from  the  old  "  Vir 
ginia  Gazette." 

The  conversation  then  turns  on  a  number  of  things,  and 
finally,  at  the  request  of  Tom  Alston,  Bonnybel  goes  reluc 
tantly  to  the  harpsichord  and  sings.  The  song  is  "  Kathe- 
rine  Ogie,"  and  the  young  lady  sings  it  with  deep  sad 
ness.  It  sighs  itself  away,  and  she  returns  listlessly  to  her 
seat. 

"An  exquisite  tune,"  says  Mr.  Alston,  ""and  'tis  Harry's 
great  favorite.  By  the  bye,  Miss  Bonnybel,  where  is  Har 
ry?" 

"  I  really  do  not  know,  sir,"  is  the  reply ;  "  in  town,  I 
suppose,  where  we  left  him,  or  rather  he  left  us." 

And  Bonnybel's  sadness  changes  to  a  pout. 

"  Harry 's  not  in  town,  my  child,"  says  the  voice  of  Colonel 


280  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

Vane,  behind  them,  "  and  I  'm  sorry  to  say  that  his  life  is  in 
danger." 

Bonnybel  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  start,  turning  pale  as 
death,  but  instantly  fell  again  in  the  chair. 

"  He  is  at '  Flower  of  Hundreds,' "  continued  the  colonel, 
sorrowfully,  "and  he  was  brought  thither  yesterday,  by 
Captain  Waters,  in  one  of  the  sail-boats.  The  account  is, 
that  the  boatman  was  hailed  by  Captain  Waters,  at  James 
town,  and  going  ashore  found  Harry  lying  on  the  grass, 
bleeding  from  a  wound  in  the  breast.  I  know  who 's  to 
blame  for  it !"  added  the  colonel,  flushing,  "  and  if  the  boy 
dies,  I'll  pursue  him  to  the  end  of  the  earth !" 

He  was  diverted  from  his  wrath  by  a  sudden  exclamation 
from  Helen.  Bonnybel  had  caught  her  sister's  arm,  to  pre 
vent  herself  from  fainting.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was  weep 
ing  in  her  chamber,  in  the  arms  of  Helen,  who  cried  with 
her. 

She  heard  the  two  gentlemen  mount  their  horses  hastily, 
and  ride  away  at  full  gallop,  and  then  the  chariot  rolled  up 
to  the  door. 

"  O,  I  '11  go  too  !"  cried  Bonnybel,  starting  up.  "  I  would 
die  of  suspense  here !  Come,  sister !" 

And  breaking  away  from  Helen,  she  hastily  descended, 
just  as  the  colonel  and  Aunt  Mabel  were  entering  the  coach. 
Helen  followed,  and  they  soon  reached  "Flower  of  Hun 
dreds." 

The  colonel  and  Aunt  Mabel  went  to  St.  John's  chamber, 
the  young  ladies  remaining  in  the  sitting-room.  Bonnybel 
resembled  a  statue ;  she  did  not  move  or  speak,  but,  from 
time  to  time,  her  vacant  eyes  were  raised  to  the  pictures 
they  had  looked  upon  together. 

As  the  slow  step  of  the  colonel  was  heard  descending 
the  stairs,  she  started,  her  cheeks  flushed — she  rose,  and 
hastened  to  the  door. 

"  How  is  he  ?"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Badly  hurt,  but  not  dangerously,"  returned  the  colonel ; 
"  the  wound  was  got  in  a  duel  with  that  man  Lindon,  at 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  281 

Jamestown  island ;  the  letter  which  you  wrote,  my  child, 
before  the  assembly,  turned  the  weapon,  and,  in  all  proba 
bility,  saved  his  life.  The  doctor  and  his  friends  are  now 
with  him,  and  they  think  that  a  month's  confinement  will 
be  all." 

Bonnybel  drew  a  long,  labored  breath,  went  slowly  to  the 
window,  looking  forth  on  the  river,  and  there  she  remained 
without  turning  her  head. 

She  was  crying  like  a  child,  but  they  were  tears  of  joy. 


CHAPTEE  LIV. 

TWO     HEARTS. 

ST.  JOHN  had  a  vigorous  constitution,  and  his  wound  soon 
ceased  to  make  him  suffer  acutely.  The  doctor  directed 
entire  quiescence  for  some  time,  however,  and  thus  the  young 
man  was  confined  to  his  room  and  his  bed  still. 

It  was  a  great  favor,  which  he  at  last  obtained,  to  be  per 
mitted  to  rise,  and  lie,  in  his  dressing  gown,  on  a  couch 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  while  Lindon  was  still  turning 
and  tossing  with  fever,  in  his  close  quarters  in  town,  St. 
John  was  inhaling  the  breath  of  leaves  and  flowers. 

Many  friends  flocked  to  cheer  his  hours  of  weariness,  and 
we  need  not  say  that  the  Vanely  family  were  not  remiss. 

Tom  Alston  assumed  his  most  foppish  air  to  make  him 
laugh  ;  Jack  Hamilton  told  a  hundred  stories  of  fox  hunt 
ing  and  frolicking;  Captain  Waters  related  endless  anec 
dotes  of  his  campaigns.  With  shoulders  drooping,  and 
dreamy  looking  eyes,  as  he  thrummed  on  his  chair,  the  wor 
thy  soldier  recalled,  for  his  companion's  amusement,  a  thou 
sand  tales  and  remembrances.  He  made  his  brilliant  and 
joyous  youth  rise  again  ;  he  beat,  or  was  beaten  again  by 
the  French ;  he  fought  all  his  battles  over  with  sighs  or 
careless  laughter. 


282  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

But  of  all  the  friendly  and  sympathizing  faces  which  gath 
ered  round  him,  during  those  long  hours  of  suffering  and 
weakness,  there  was  one  which  contributed  more  powerfully 
to  the  young  man's  recovery  than  all  the  rest. 

We  need  scarcely  say  that  this  was  the  face  of  Bonnybel. 

Claiming  her  privilege  of  cousin  and  old  playmate,  the 
young  lady,  throwing  aside  all  ceremony,  came  almost  daily, 
with  her  mother  and  sisters,  to  see  the  invalid,  and  St.  John 
experienced  in  her  society  a  charm  which  seemed  to  make 
him  stronger  day  by  day,  as  though  by  the  influence  of 
magic. 

Bonnybel  was  110  longer  the  coquettish  and  mischievous 
little  fairy,  such  as  we  have  seen  her  in  former  pages  of  this 
history.  She  appeared  suddenly  to  have  changed  her  entire 
character.  She  no  longer  laughed  and  jested  at  every  thing 
and  nothing.  All  the  little  pouts,  and  "  spites,"  and  ironies, 
and  angers,  which  had  made  her  society  so  piquante,  dis 
appeared.  She  became  suddenly  an  earnest  woman,  full  of 
pity  and  sympathizing  tenderness,  and  very  soon  a  criti 
cal  observer  might  have  seen,  dawning  in  her  eyes,  and  on 
her  tell-tale  cheeks,  the  evidences  of  a  warmer  and  more 
profound  emotion — the  imperceptible  light,  and  rosy  dawn, 
of  a  true  woman's  faithful  love. 

They  spent  hours  and  hours  together,  beneath  the  open 
window,  through  which  came  the  breath  of  vernal  fields  and 
summer  flowers,  and  Bonnybel  seemed  never  weary  gazing 
at  the  fine  landscape.  From  the  lofty  hill,  the  wooded  banks 
of  the  great  river,  studded  with  white  mansions,  embowered 
in  green  foliage,  stretched  far  away,  and  disappeared  in  the 
mists  of  the  horizon  ;  the  broad  current  glittered  with  the 
snowy  sails  of  sea-bound  barks  or  those  returning  home  from 
distant  lands ;  the  forests,  day  by  day,  assumed  a  deeper 
and  more  beautiful  emerald ;  the  summer  came  apace,  com 
pleting  with  its  warmth  and  fuller  radiance,  the  influence  of 
the  fresh  spring,  and  in  the  heart  of  the  young  lady,  also,  all 
those  vague  emotions  of  the  past  came  gradually  to  combine 
and  ripen  into  the  warm  summer  of  love. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  283 

It  is  out  of  our  power  to  trace,  with  greater  distinctness, 
the  successive  steps  by  which  the  girl  approached  this  su 
preme  point  in  the  life  of  a  woman.  "We  would  not,  if  we 
could.  Such  topics  should  not  be  lightly  handled.  A  poet 

says: 

"Two  happier  lovers  never  met 
In  dear  and  talk-charmed  privacy. 
The  memories  of  happier  hours 
Are  like  the  cordials  pressed  from  flowers 
And  madden  sweetly.    I  impart 
Nought  of  the  love  talk  I  remember, 
For  May's  young  pleasures  are  best  hid 
From  the  cold  prudence  of  December, 
Which  clips  and  chills  all  vernal  wings ; 
And  love's  own  sanctities  forbid, 
Now,  as  of  old,  such  gossippings 
In  halls,  of  what  befalls  in  bowers." 

• 

We  prefer  to  simply  state  the  fact  that  the  result  of  those 
hours  of  quiet  talk,  or  more  expressive  silence,  was  an  affec 
tion,  on  the  part  of  the  young  lady,  as  warm  and  true  as 
that  of  her  lover.  Doubtless  it  commenced  in  her  woman's 
pity  for  suffering,  and  tender  sympathy  for  him  who  suf 
fered,  but  ere  long  this  sympathy  was  needless,  for  he  grew 
stronger  day  by  day ;  still  the  feeling  of  the  young  lady 
deepened. 

No  word  had  been  spoken  by  either,  but  the  language  of 
the  eyes  is  superior  to  all  words.  All  around  them  soon 
perceived  what  they  thought  so  wholly  concealed,  and  by  a 
series  of  accidents,  Mr.  St.  John's  visitors  were  all  called 
away  when  Bonnybel  came  to  see  him.  They  would  talk 
alone  for  hours,  the  fresh  breeze  moving  her  bright  curls, 
or  bringing  back  the  color  to  his  pale  thin  cheeks,  and  then 
they  would  part  with  a  long  look,  which  needed  no  words 
to  express  its  meaning. 

It  was  one  evening  when,  having  arisen  from  his  sick 
couch,  and  received  permission  to  ride  out,  St.  John  went 
with  Bonnybel  to  Vanely,  that  he  found  the  moment. 


284  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening,  and  the  sun  was  just  setting,  as 
they  drew  near  the  old  hall.  In  the  east,  a  luminous  halo 
preceded  the  rising  of  the  moon,  and  a  single  star,  suspended, 
like  a  lamp  of  fire,  in  the  rosy  atmosphere,  delicately  scintil 
lated,  gathering  clearer  radiance  as  the  purple  margin  of  the 
sunset  grew  more  pale. 

In  a  moment,  the  two  hearts  beat  together ;  he  under 
stood  what  had  angered  and  pained  him  so  much ;  she  had 
loved  him  and  expected  him  to  return ;  her  suffering  had 
been  greater  than  his  own. 

They  reached  the  old  hall,  and  now,  when  the  pale,  weak 
young  man  assisted  her  from  the  saddle,  she  did  not  pout  or 
reprimand  him. 

The  curious  moon,  looking  down,  saw  a  man  holding 
closely  to  his  breast  a  woman — a  woman  who  smiled  through 
her  tears — that  was  all. 

They  had  plighted  their  troth. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

WHICH   COMMENCES  THE   SECOND   PORTION   OF  THE    HISTORY. 

WITH  the  words  which  we  have  just  written,  we  should 
be  glad  to  conclude  our  history.  The  young  and  kind- 
hearted,  everywhere,  would  thank  us,  for,  to  this  class,  noth 
ing  is  so  pleasant  as  happiness  and  sunshine.  St.  John  would 
be  remembered  as  one  happy  in  the  possession  of  a  true- 
hearted  woman ;  Bonnybel,  as  the  bride  of  the  man  whom 
she  preferred,  above  all  the  world,  for  her  husband. 

But,  alas !  human  life  is  not  made  up  entirely  of  sunshine. 
It  is  often  when  the  day  is  brightest,  that  the  dark  folds  of 
the  thunder  cloud  sweep  from  the  horizon,  and  blacken  the 
most  brilliant  landscape.  It  was  so  in  the  lives  of  these 
lovers,  and  the  duty  of  their  historian  is  to  tell  all  he  knows. 

In  some  points  of  view,  perhaps,  this  duty  is  of  advantage 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  285 

to  the  history.  For  this  volume  has  two  themes,  two  aims  : 
the  story  of  a  man  and  a  woman ;  the  history,  also,  of  a 
period  in  the  annals  of  a  nation. 

We  have  followed  the  steps  of  these  two  persons  toward 
the  point  where  their  hands  clasped;  we  have  witnessed 
the  gradual  narrowing  of  the  space  which  separated  two 
lands  from  the  battle-field,  where  hearts,  long  united,  would 
be  torn  asunder,  where  squadrons  would  clash,  and  blood 
flow  like  water.  Let  us  now  look  again  on  the  columns 
marching  to  the  conflict,  from  which  a  new  world  was  to 
rise,  like  a  colossal  form  of  Victory,  its  face  to  the  morning 
and  the  stars  of  glory  on  its  brow.  Let  us  also  see  what 
befell  the  two  main  personages  of  the  history.  There  are 
clouds  and  sunshine  in  both  pictures.  . 

For  a  month,  St.  John  was  wholly  and  completely  happy. 
If,  before,  the  whole  world  appeared  brighter  and  lovelier 
in  his  eyes,  it  was  now  wholly  transfigured,  for  he  was 
blessed  with  the  fruition  of  his  dearest  wish.  Like  the  sun 
shining  out  after  a  storm,  his  present  joy  was  more  fresh 
and  brilliant  for  the  hours  of  gloom  which  had  preceded  it. 
The  woman  whom  he  loved,  loved  him  in  return,  and  every 
one  at  Vanely  sincerely  rejoiced.  The  young  man  had 
twined  himself  around  the  hearts  of  old  and  young,  and  the 
parents  of  the  young  lady  hailed  with  joy  the  closer  bond 
which  was  about  to  unite  them  to  the  young  man ;  he  had 
been  like  a  son  always  to  them,  now  he  would  be  really 
such. 

Bonnybel  bore  her  "  new  honors"  with  some  blushes,  but 
a  serene,  tranquil  happiness.  All  her  wildness  and  mischief 
had  departed ;  she  no  longer  laughed  or  jested ;  she  was 
content  to  be  silent  and  happy. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  marriage  should  take  place  at 
the  end  of  summer,  and  the  young  lady  and  her  companion 
had  a  hundred  confidential  talks  on  the  arrangements  which 
that  event  would  make  necessary.  It  was  at  last  decided 
that,  after  a  month  spent  at  Vanely,  they  should  go  to 
"Flower  of  Hundreds,"  and  settle  down  permanently;  thus 


286  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

Mr.  St.  John  would  be  what  he  wished  to  be,  an  honest 
country  gentleman.  He  would  cultivate  his  patrimonial 
acres,  and  never  dream  of  Indians  or  war  any  more  ! 

His  old  ambition  seemed  to  him,  as  he  pondered  and 
smiled  now,  like  a  dream  of  the  night,  a  mere  foolish  fancy. 
Indians  ?  That  they  should  concern  him  was  supremely 
ridiculous  !  He  had  other  things  to  think  of — his  wife ! 

Thus  a  month  fled  away,  and  one  morning  the  young  man 
mounted  "  Tallyho"  to  go  to  Williamsburg,  where  he  had 
to  attend  to  some  pecuniary  matters,  and  see  to  having  the 
old  house  of  "  Flower  of  Hundreds"  refitted  for  the  abode 
of  its  future  mistress. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  '11  not  forget  me  ?"  said  Bonnybel, 
archly,  and  blushing,  as  he  bade  her  farewell ;  "  a  whole 
week !  what  a  long,  long  time !" 

"  It  is  a  century  to  me,"  he  replied,  gazing  with  pride 
and  admiration  on  the  girl ;  "  but  I  '11  try  not  to  forget  you, 
if  you  will  promise  me  as  much." 

The  foollish,  idle  thought  was  not  worth  replying  to,  she 
said,  smiling ;  he  would  write  to  her  ? 

"  Every  day — could  she  think  he  would  neglect  it  ?" 

And  with  a  heavy  heart  the  young  man  vaulted  into  the 
saddle.  "  Tallyho"  departed  at  a  gallop,  but  his  master  did 
not  see  the  road  before  him.  His  head  was  turned  back 
ward,  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  woman,  who  waved  her  white 
handkerchief ;  at  last  the  forest  intervened ;  they  were 
parted  for  the  first  time  since  that  moonlit  evening. 

Let  us  now  leave  the  happy  fields  of  Vanely,  and  its  cheer 
ful  faces,  and  following  St.  John,  reenter  the  old  capital. 
From  this  center  and  heart  flows  already  the  fiery  blood  of 
revolution ;  here,  also,  fell  that  cloud,  which  we  have  spoken 
of,  on  the  young  man  who  thought  his  life  all  sunshine. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  first  of  August  when  St. 
John  rode  into  Williamsburg  and  stopped  at  the  Raleigh 
tavern. 

As  he  approached  the  door,  a  concourse  of  gentlemen 
were  issuing  forth,  and  he  recognized  the  members  of  the 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  287 

House  of  Burgesses,  which  Dunmore  had  dissolved  more 
than  two  months  before. 

Suddenly  he  saw,  in  front  of  him,  the  stranger  of  the  old 
church  at  Richmond. 

The  stranger  was  talking  with  one  of  the  members,  but 
his  clear,  penetrating  eye  having  caught  sight  of  St.  John, 
he  ended  his  colloquy  and  approached  the  young  man. 

"  Welcome,  friend,"  he  said,  in  his  deep,  calm  voice ;  "  I 
have  not  seen  you  of  late,  as  was  very  natural.  You  have 
recovered  ?" 

"  Yes,  perfectly.     So  you  knew  of  my  accident  ?" 

"  Of  course ;  the  whole  province  knows  it.  Your  adver 
sary  has  just  gotten  out  again." 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  of  that,  and  accounts  are  closed,  I  think, 
between  us.  But  this  meeting,  this  assemblage !" 

"  It  is  the  first  Virginia  Convention.    You  arrive  too  late." 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  can  at  least  compliment  you  on  your 
foresight.  This  is  the  second  prediction  which  you  made  ; 
both,  I  see,  are  now  accomplished." 

"  My  prediction  ?"  said  the  stranger ;  "  it  was  scarcely 
such.  Prophets  are  inspired,  and  speak  from  their  inspira 
tion.  I  was  simply  informed  in  advance.  I  have  an  advan 
tage  over  you.  To  the  uneducated  eye  of  the  mere  looker 
on,  Virginia  advances  blindly,  and  without  knowing  what 
she  does ;  to  me,  as  to  those  who  know,  her  whole  career  is 
the  result  of  a  logical,  mathematical  set  of  premises  ;  the  ac 
complishment,  in  open  day,  of  what  Henry  and  the  great 
leaders  have  resolved  on  in  council."* 

"  Ah,  I  understand !" 

"  This  was  to  do — it  is  done,"  continued  the  stranger ; 
"  the  sword  was  drawn,  the  blow  has  now  been  struck.  Do 
you  know  what  the  blow  is  ?" 

"  Tell  me." 

"  This  convention  of  delegates,  elected  by  the  people  of 
Virginia,  has  just  affirmed  the  action  of  the  House,  making 
common  cause  with  the  people  of  Boston  to  the  very  death, 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXXIV. 


288  HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

and  breaking  off  wholly  all  commercial  connection  with  En 
gland." 

"  That  is  well." 

"  What  remains  is  better.  Do  you  remember  that  the 
articles  of  association,  on  the  occasion  of  the  dissolution,  rec 
ommended  a  general  congress  ?" 

"  I  remember." 

"  Well,  that  congress  is  now  resolved  on.  Delegates  have 
just  been  appointed :  Peyton  Randolph,  Richard  Henry  Lee, 
George  Washington,  Patrick  Henry,  Richard  Bland,  Benja 
min  Harrison,  and  Edmund  Pendleton." 

"  A  noble  array  of  names." 

"  A  constellation  of  glory  and  victory !"  said  the  stranger, 
in  his  deep,  earnest  voice ;  "  our  Virginia  noblemen,  by 
God's  patent,  not  the  king's !  Do  you  know  the  instruc 
tions  they  carry  in  their  hands  ?  Listen  to  the  ending — I 
have  it  by  heart :  '  If  the  said  General  Gage  conceives  he  is 
empowered  to  act  in  this  manner,  as  the  commander-in-chief 
of  his  Majesty's  forces  in  America,  this  odious  and  illegal 
proclamation  must  be  considered  as  a  plain  and  full  declara 
tion  that  this  despotic  viceroy  will  be  bound  by  no  law,  nor 
regard  the  constitutional  rights  of  his  Majesty's  subjects 
whenever  they  interfere  with  the  plans  he  has  formed  for 
oppressing  the  good  people  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  and,  there 
fore,  the  executing,  or  attempting  to  execute,  such  procla 
mation  will  justify  resistance  and  reprisal.'  This  is  what 
the  delegates  of  Virginia  take  to  the  general  continental 
congress,  to  meet  in  Philadelphia  on  the  5th  of  September, 
and  it  is  enough !  No  matter  whether  't  is  General  Gage, 
or  the  government  represented  by  him,  which  we  are  to  re 
sist  and  execute  reprisals  on !  I  defy  a  million  casuists  to 
change  the  issue  when  the  cannon  begin  to  roar  !" 

"  You  are  right,"  said  St.  John,  thoughtfully,  "  it  is  really 
England  which  these  instructions  defy." 

"  Nothing  less,"  replied  the  stranger,  opening  a  pamphlet 
which  he  carried  folded  in  his  hand,  "  and  here  is  the  defi 
ance  at  greater  length." 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  289 

"What  is  that?" 

"  See !  '  A  Summary  View  of  the  Rights  of  British 
America."1 " 

"  By  whom  ?" 

"  Mr.  Thomas  Jefferson." 

"  Ah  !  the  man  of  the  mathematical  logic,  the  irreverent 
genius,  the  overturner !" 

"  Yes,  the  pick-ax,  as  Henry  is  the  gunpowder.  Take 
this  pamphlet  and  read  it,  friend.  See  its  noble  sentiments : 

*  the  whole  art  of  government  consists  in  the  art  of  being 
honest !'    Weigh  attentively  its  inexorable  logic,  treading 
upon  thrones  and  principalities !     See  how  I  uttered  the 
simplest  truth  when  I  told  you  that  this  man,  Jefferson, 
would  be  one  of  the  eagles  of  the  storm !     In  this  pamphlet, 
which  will  probably  cause  his  attainder  for  treason,  the  great 
issue  is  defined  with  irresistible  vigor  and  unflinching  ex 
actness  ;  these  pages  are  the  statement  of  the  quarrel,  the 
watch-word  of  resistance  —  revolution  !*    Every  moment 
that  revolution  advances !     We  have  looked  for  it  almost 
with  tears  and  groans !  Now  it  comes,  with  gigantic  strides, 
as  I  speak !     Ten  years  ago,  Patrick  Henry  said  to  me : 

*  Even  now  you  may  scent  the  odor  of  the  coming  storm  !' 
Well,  friend,  that  odor  gathers  closer  and  more  intense,  but 
it  is  not  suffocating !    It  fills  the  veins  of  thousands  with  fierce 
heat — of  thousands  who  are  taking  down  their  old  swords  and 
fire-arms.     The  gloomy  cloud  droops  above,  and  the  world 
lies  in  darkness,  but  wait,  friend,  wait !  be  not  doubtful ! 
From  this  gloom  will  leap  the  lightning  of  an  oppressed  peo 
ple's  indignation  ;  woe  to  those  who  are  struck  by  the  bolt !" 

"  You  speak  in  a  voice  which  leaves  no  room  for  answer," 
said  his  companion.  "  I  will  take  this  pamphlet  and  read 
it ;  but  I  fear  I  shall  be  a  worthless  proselyte;" 

"  No,  you  belong  to  Virginia,  and  will  take  your  part." 
St.  John  smiled. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  think  I  shall  not  accomplish  much, 
friend  ?"  he  said. 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXXV. 
13 


290  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

"  NO." 

"  I  am  happy." 

And  the  young  man's  eyes  wandered,  with  a  tranquil  light 
in  them,  toward  the  far  south-west. 

"  You  have  been  frank  with  me,  friend,"  he  said  to  the 
stranger  ;  "  you  unrolled  before  me  your  whole  past  life — I 
will  not  be  so  unfriendly  as  to  conceal  my  own.  I  love  and 
am  beloved  by  the  noblest  woman  in  the  land,  and  in  her  love 
I  find  the  consummation  of  my  hopes  and  dreams.  Do  you 
understand  now  why  I  am  a  bad  instrument  of  revolution  ?" 

And  the  young  man  looked  at  the  stranger  with  an  air  of 
tranquil  happiness. 

The  stranger  for  a  time  did  not  speak,  but  gazing  at  his 
companion,  seemed  to  muse  sadly.  This  expression  of  sad 
ness  deepened  into  sorrow  as  he  reflected,  and  at  last,  shak 
ing  his  head,  he  muttered, 

"  Youth  !  youth !  what  a  grand  thing  it  is  !  how  full  of 
trust !" 

"  What  did  you  say  ?"  asked  St.  John  ;  "  speak  out  your 
thoughts." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  not,  friend,"  said  the  stranger, 
sadly ;  "  they  are  not  happy  thoughts." 

"  Let  me  share  at  least  your  griefs." 

"  I  have  none,  and  I  only  mused,  as  do  all  men  who  have 
seen  wither  and  fade  the  blossoms  and  flowers  of  their 
dreams." 

*' Speak,  friend!"  said  St.  John,  "I  wish  to  hear  your 
thought." 

"  It  will  not  appear  rational  to  you,  but  I  may  as  well 
utter  it.  Well,  you  think  the  future  is  clear  and  happy,  do 
you  not  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"That  you  are  assured  of  this  happiness — certain  to 
reap  ?" 

"  I  think  I  am." 

"  You  think  that  no  clouds  can  rise,  no  thunderbolts  de 
scend  ?" 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  291 

"  No  clouds  which  love  can  not  dissipate,  no  thunderbolts 
which  happiness  will  not  turn  aside." 

The  stranger  shook  his  head. 

"I  thought  so  once,  too,"  he  muttered,  "but  it  came. 
Take  care  !  be  not  too  certain !  Do  not  think  that  Heaven 
will  permit  you  to  withdraw  yourself  from  the  contest." 

St.  John  smiled. 

"  You  speak  to  a  man  demented  by  a  possessing  thought, 
a  single  image,"  he  said  ;  "  your  words  do  not  convince  me." 

"  Wel^  perhaps  they  had  better  have  not  been  uttered. 
But  the  future  is  dark — we  know  not  what  may  happen.  I 
see  that  for  the  present  I  have  lost  a  coadjutor,  for  you  are 
happy  and  content.  If  that  happiness  changes  to  sadness, 
that  content  to  suffering  and  pain,  then  you  will  come  back 
to  the  struggle  from  which  you  are  now  taken.  If  that 
event  happens,  come  and  put  your  hand  on  my  shoulder — I 
will  support  you.  My  words  seem  idle,  friend,  but  they 
may  be  the  best  rationality  for  you  if  the  darkness  comes. 
Do  you  see  that  tall  house  yonder  rising  above  the  suburbs  ? 
That  is  my  working  place,  you  know,  and  there  you  will 
find  me !  I  hope  you  will  not  come.  I  trust  I  may  be  a 
mere  raven,  like  Virgil's,  croaking  from  the  hollow  tree ; 
but  the  future  for  all  of  us  lies  in  the  hand  of  God.  Now 
I  will  take  my  leave,  as  I  have  much  to  attend  to.  I  shall 
see  you  again." 

And  exchanging  a  grasp  of  the  hand  with  St.  John,  the 
stranger  left  him,  and  disappeared  in  the  moving  throng  be 
fore  the  door  of  the  tavern. 

The  young  man  looked  after  him  with  a  sad  smile. 

"  There  goes  one  who  has  suffered  much,"  he  muttered, 
"  and  he  fears  that  I  will  suffer.  He  does  not  know  the 
depth  and  security  of  my  happiness,  poor  heart !  He  does 
not  know  that  Bonnybel  and  myself  are  united  by  a  tie 
which  destiny  itself  is  powerless  to  burst  asunder !" 

He  spoke  with  a  smile,  and  so  went  into  the  Raleigh. 


292  HENKY  ST.   JOHN",    GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER    LYI. 

HOW   CAPTAIN   WATERS   PLUCKED   ALL    HIS    GEESE. 

IT  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  that  St.  John, 
while  going  along  with  his  head  bent  down,  struck  sud 
denly  against  an  object  approaching,  as  he  was  leaving,  the 
Raleigh  tavern. 

He  raised  his  head  and  found  that  the  object  was  Captain 
Waters,  who  had  been  going  along  in  the  same  thoughtful 
way. 

There  was  this  difference,  however,  between  the  musings 
of  the  friends ;  those  of  St.  John  were  happy,  while  Cap 
tain  Ralph  was  evidently  sad. 

"  I  'm  delighted  to  see  you,  my  dear  captain,"  said  St. 
John,  holding  out  his  hand,  "and  must  beg  your  pardon  for 
nearly  knocking  you  down.  What  news  ?" 

The  captain  pressed  his  friend's  hand  with  melancholy 
pleasure,  and  with  a  countenance  elongated  to  an  extent 
really  deplorable,  replied,  sadly, 

"Absolutely  nothing,  my  dear  comrade,  unless  you  call 
the  convention  here,  and  a  dreadful  disappointment  I  have 
suffered,  news." 

"A  dreadful  disappointment !" 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  nothing  less,"  groaned  the  captain,  "  a 
real  staggerer." 

"You  pain  me,"  said  St.  John,  scanning  the  mortified 
face  of  his  companion ;  "  come,  be  friendly,  and  tell  me  your 
trouble  as  I  told  you  mine.  Perhaps  I  can  serve  you  as  you 
served  me." 

The  captain  shook  his  head. 

"  Impossible,  mon  ami,"  he  groaned,  "  actually  impossi 
ble.  Morbleu  !  how  black  that  sunshine  is !" 

And  the  captain  drew  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and, 
consequently,  the  midnight  fringe  which  covered  them,  in 
a  way  which  indicated  actual  despair. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  293 

"  You  look  at  me  curiously,  my  boy,"  he  said,  after  a  mo 
ment  ;  "  you  lament  my  distress.  You  will  lament  it  more 
when  I  tell  you  about  it,  and  will  see  that  you  can't  relieve 
it.  I  succeeded  tolerably  well  in  hatching  that  little  afiair 
between  you  and  Lindon,  who  is  just  getting  out  again,  but 
you  can  not  reciprocate  the  favor.  It  has  some  relation  to 
that  little  circumstance  at  Jamestown  island,  but  the  simi 
larity  soon  ends.  You  can't  help  me,  miserable  wretch  that 
I  am !  You  can  not  be  of  the  least  service  to  me  !" 

And  the  captain  groaned  again.  This  time  he  almost 
sobbed. 

"I  see  you  are  dying  to  hear  about  it,  comrade,"  he  con 
tinued,  after  a  disconsolate  pause,  "  and  I  do  n't  mind  tell 
ing  you  every  thing.  But  let  us  go  and  get  a  cup  of  Canary 
— I  'in  choking." 

With  which  words  Captain  Ralph  led  the  way  into  the 
domain  of  mine  host  of  the  Raleigh,  and  being  supplied 
with  what  he  demanded,  drew  St.  John  into  a  corner  of  the 
apartment,  and  sitting  down,  proceeded  to  his  disappoint 
ment. 

"  Fancy  me  lounging  yonder  at  home,  mon  ami,"  he  said, 
"  after  seeing  you  well  through  that  little  aifair  with  Lindon, 
and  behold  me,  as  the  French  lingo  has  it,  idle,  sombre,  be 
coming  gradually  a  prey  to  the  blue  devils.  They  assaulted 
me  even  when  you  were  sick,  and  that 's  why  I  told  you  all 
those  adventures  and  wore  out  your  patience  with  stories ! 
Do  n't,  deny  it,  comrade,  you  are  too  polite.  My  own 
opinion  is,  that  those  narratives  delayed  your  recovery  at 
least  a  fortnight !  You  smile — you  think  I  'm  a  farceur  ! 
My  friend,  I  am  not ;  I  am  plunged  into  despair.  But  to 
proceed." 

And  taking  another  draught  of  the  Canary,  the  soldier 
sighed  and  continued. 

"  Back  to  Flodden  once  more,  as  I  said,  companion,  I  be 
came  a  prey  to  the  blue  imps,  and  all  day  long  I  thought  of 
nothing  but  my  disappointment  in  the  matter  of  drawing 
Foy  into  a  duel.  In  vain  did  madam,  that  paragon  of  wo- 


294  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

men,  endeavor  to  extract  from  me  the  origin  of  my  low 
spirits.  In  vain  did  Master  Ralph  Waters,  that  noblest  of 
urchins,  and  most  indefatigable  of  dirt  pie  fabricators,  climb 
up  my  knees,  and  beg  for  a  caress.  I  motioned  Madame 
Henriette  away — I  sent  Master  Ralph  to  the  nursery.  Every 
day  I  grew  thinner,  and  was  rapidly  becoming  weary  of  life 
under  the  ungentlemanly  persecution  of  that  fellow,  Foy, 
who  has  treated  me  abominably.  You  see  it  was  his  refusal 
to  fight  me,  mon  ami,  which  caused  my  melancholy,  and  I 
was  in  despair. 

,  "  Well,  things  were  in  this  condition,  when,  one  morning 
I  read  in  the  'Virginia  Gazette,'  that  their  honors,  the  del 
egates  of  the  colony,  would  meet  in  convention  in  a  day  or 
two,  at  Williamsburg ;  and  no  sooner  had  I  perused  this 
announcement  than  a  fortunate  or  unfortunate  idea  at  once 
struck  me.  Foy  had  refused  to  fight  me  on  the  ground  of 
his  secretaryship.  Now  I  would  place  myself  on  an  equal 
ity  with  him,  by  becoming  the  secretary  of  the  convention. 
Do  n't  you  see  ?  I  do  n't  mind  saying  I  'm  rather  proud  of 
the  idea,  and  I  proceeded  immediately  to  put  it  into  execu 
tion.  I  got  a  bundle  of  paper  as  big  as  a  horse  could  carry, 
a  fascine  of  pens,  which  Madame  Henriette  made  by  reduc 
ing  all  the  geese  on  the  plantation  to  a  state  of  nature,  and 
having  thus  prepared  for  my  civil  duties,  the  ink  being  left 
to  the  liberality  of  the  convention,  I  hunted  up  my  best 
sword,  and  spent  an  entire  day  in  burnishing  my  accoutre 
ments.  On  the  next  morning  I  set  out  in  my  carriage,  bid 
ding  a  triumphant  adieu  to  that  paragon  of  women,  Madame 
Henriette,  who  was  dying  with  curiosity — her  only  failing, 
my  friend — and  in  due  time  I  reached  Williamsburg." 

The  captain  stopped  to  sip  his  Canary,  in  the  midst  of 
smiles  from  Mr.  St.  John. 

"I  arrived  just  in  time,"  continued  the  narrator,  "and  by 
the  influence  of  my  friends,  secured  the  post  of  secretary  of 
the  convention,  which  I,  however,  paid  a  deputy,  an  excel 
lent  scrivener,  to  perform  the  duties  of.  You  see,  however, 
I  was  de  jure,  as  Jack  Hamilton  is  fond  of  saying,  the  sec- 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  295 

retary,  and  I  rubbed  my  sword  again,  until  I  could  see  my 
face  in  it.  As  to  the  paper  and  quills,  the  deputy  took  them, 
while  I  went  after  Foy. 

"  I  called  at  the  palace — his  secretaryship  was  at  Monte- 
bello,  the  residence,  some  six  miles  below  town,  of  his  Ex 
cellency,  the  noble  Dunmore.  I  got  into  the  saddle,  and 
went  to  Montebello ;  his  secretaryship  sent  me  word  that  he 
was  engaged  in  important  business  with  his  lordship,  and 
begged  to  be  excused.  You  may  know  I  came  back  in  a 
furious  bad  humor,  and  so  I  remained  until  this  morning. 

"I  then  heard  that  Foy  had  returned,  and  dressing  my 
self  in  this  elegant  suit,  and  girding  on  this  pretty  little  pa 
rade  sword,  I  repeated  my  call  at  the  palace. 

"  I  heard  Foy  say  to  the  servant,  '  Tell  him,  pest  that  he 
is !  tell  him  I  have  not  returned  !'  The  lackey  was  deliver 
ing  this  message  when  I  pushed  him  aside,  and  went  in. 

"  Foy  was  sitting  at  his  table,  the  same  one,  I  doubt  not, 
man  ami,  from  behind  which  his  Excellency  scolded  you, 
and  from  the  pile  of  papers  before  him,  I  suppose  he  was 
busy.  We  look  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  and  Foy  frowns. 
I  smile  and  bow. 

"  'I  am  really  distressed  to  disturb  you,  my  dear  Foy,'  I 
say,  '  but  you  will  permit  me  to  say  that  't  was  scarcely 
friendly  to  deny  yourself  thus  to  an  old  comrade.' 

"  '  I  am  busy,  Captain  Waters,'  he  replies,  with  a  grand 
air. 

"  '  I  thought  Conolly  was  gone,  my  dear  friend,'  I  say ; 
for,  you  see,  I  wanted  to  get  him  up  to  the  point.  Once 
aroused,  I  knew  I  had  him. 

"  At  the  words,  '  I  thought  Conolly  was  gone,'  his  pale 
face  flushes,  as  I  expected,  and  he  rises  and  says, 

"  '  Captain  Waters,  this  is  the  third  or  fourth  time  you 
have  been  pleased  to  connect  me  with  Major  Conolly,  his 
Excellency's  agent — ' 

"  '  Ah!  he  is  his  Excellency's  agent,'  I  interrupt ;  '  you  ac 
knowledge  it  ?' 

"'I  acknowledge  nothing,  sir!'  he  says,  growing  hot  at 


296  HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

his  blunder,  *  I  only  say  that  yonr  persevering  intrusion  up 
on  me,  and  your  insinuations,  are  insulting,  offensive,  and 
such  as  I  shall  not  longer  endure  !' 

"My  dear  St.  John,"  continued  the  captain,  smiling, 
"  when  Foy  said  that,  growing  red  as  he  spoke,  I  felt  a  hap 
piness  which  I  have  not  before  experienced  for  a  long  time. 
I  saw  that  I  had  fortunately  come  on  him  in  an  irritable 
moment,  when  the  best  of  us,  you  know,  can't  keep  cool, 
and  I  expected  much  from  this  circumstance. 

"  '  My  dear  Foy,'  I  say,  '  do  you  really  consider  that  ques 
tion  insulting  ?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  in  confidence,  I  meant 
it  to  be  so  ;  not  in  any  bad  spirit,  for  I  have  a  positive  affec 
tion  for  you,  and  would  not  wound  your  feelings  for  worlds, 
but,  you  see,  I  have  set  my  heart  on  fighting  you.' 

"  I  said  all  this  with  so  much  good  feeling,  that  my  gen 
tleman  saw,  I  suppose,  that  I  uttered  the  truth.  He  sat 
down,  coldly,  and  I  read,  in  his  keen  eye,  that  he  felt  he 
had  all  to  lose  and  nothing  to  gain  by  the  encounter,  and 
that  his  best  revenge  for  my  insult  was  to  take  no  notice 
of  it. 

" '  Sir,'  he  said,  in  his  grand  way,  '  you  seom  actually  de 
mented,  and  did  I  not  know  the  eccentricity  of  your  charac 
ter,  I  should  not  suffer  this  offense  to  pass  unanswered.  I 
shall  not  so  proceed,  however,  sir,  and  I  request  that  this 
interview  may  end.  I  have  repeatedly  assured  you  that  my 
post  of  secretary,  in  the  service  of  his  Excellency,  renders  it 
impossible  for  me  to  accept  your  defiance ;  you  know  me 
perfectly  well,  sir,  and  are  doubtless  aware  that  I  place  much 
restraint  upon  my  feelings  in  refusing.' 

"  '  Know  you !  my  dear  Foy !'  I  reply,  '  like  the  word  of 
command  !  You  're  as  brave  as  steel,  and  I  offer  you  a  lit 
tle  affair  whereby,  you  may  prove  it  to  these  stupid  Vir 
ginians,  persons  wholly  ignorant  of  your  valorous  deeds  at 
Minden,  and  a  thousand  other  places.' 

"  '  I  repeat,  sir,'  he  says,  coldly,  '  that  this  duel  is  impos 
sible.' 

"  '  Why  ?     On  account  of  your  secretaryship,  eh  ?' 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  297 

" '  Yes,  sir.' 

"  '  That  makes  the  combat  unequal?' 

" '  It  does,  sir.' 

"  '  Well,'  I  say,  triumphantly,  '  suppose  we  stood  on  equal 
grounds,  would  things  be  changed  ?' 

" '  Yes,  sir,  and  as  I  said  before,  it  would  give  me  extreme 
pleasure  to  cut  your  throat,'  replies  Foy,  making  me  the 
most  elegantly  sneering  salute. 

"  I  did  not  notice  it ;  I  got  ready  my  blow. 

"  '  It  gives  me  real  happiness  to  inform  you,  my  dear  Foy,' 
I  say,  '  that  the  equality  which  you  mention  really  exists. 
I  am  secretary  of  the  convention  of  Virginia,  and  here  is  a 
parchment  evidence  of  it,  sworn  to  by  three  witnesses — I 
added  the  third  for  safety.  This  paper,  my  dear  Foy,  proves 
what  I  say,  and  now  I  suppose  you  will  no  longer  refuse. 
Come,  let  us  make  the  arrangements;  I'm  dying  to  learn 
the  coup  of  Reinfels,  and  if  I  kill  you,  I  shall  bless  your 
memory.' 

"  My  gentleman  looks,  with  the  strongest  astonishment, 
on  the  paper,  and  says, 

"  '  Captain  Waters,  you  seem  really  crazy.' 

" '  My  dear  Foy,'  I  reply,  smiling,  '  you  seem  to  me  abso 
lutely  stupid.' 

" '  Captain  Waters,  I  shall  suffer  no  more  insults !'  says  my 
gentleman,  flushing.  '  Take  back  your  parchment,  sir,  the 
evidence  of  your  participation  in  a  treasonable  assemblage  ; 
take  it  back,  sir,  and  I  advise  you  to  destroy  it.  Otherwise 
you  will  suffer  by  it  when  the  government  makes  its  investi 
gations  into  the  riotous  conduct  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
colony.  I  give  you  this  advice,  sir,  as  an  old  companion, 
and  I  refuse  to  have  you  arrested,  as  I  might,  because  we 
have  fought  and  slept  together.  Go,  captain  !  let  us  pro 
ceed  different  ways ;  at  present,  I  repeat  that  I  neither  can 
nor  will  fight  you,  but  if  it  is  any  consolation,  I  announce  to 
you  that,  in  all  probability,  the  time  will  soon  arrive  when 
I  shall  show  you  your  favorite  coup.  I  do  not  pretend  to 
think  that  we  are  not  enemies ;  we  are,  for  we  espouse  dif- 

13* 


298  HENKY    ST.   JOHN",    GENTLEMAN. 

ferent  sides.  If  you  can  kill  me,  do  so ;  when  the  time 
comes,  I  have  good  hopes  of  performing  that  ceremony  for 
yourself!' 

"  And  bowing,  with  an  air  of  the  most  odious  elegance, 
the  confounded  fellow  bent  over  his  papers  again.  I  had 
nothing  to  reply,  my  dear  friend,"  finished  the  captain.  "  I 
could  not  force  Foy  to  recognize  the  validity  of  my  appoint 
ment  as  secretary,  when  he  conscientiously  doubted.  I  was 
beaten,  driven  back,  disappointed,  conquered  completely. 
I  only  shook  my  head,  and  bidding  Foy  adieu,  came  away. 
At  the  door  I  met  his  Excellency,  whom  I  saluted,  and  so  I 
was  returning,  sorrowfully,  when  I  ran  up. against  you. 
Miserable  and  detestable  fate !"  added  the  captain,  "  which 
pushes  me  eternally  away  from  this  snake.  But  even  in  the 
depths  of  my  disappointment,  I'll  not  despair.  I  '11  yet  wait 
for  happier  times." 

The  captain  finished  his  Canary,  and  rose,  St.  John,  hav 
ing  listened  with  the  utmost  attention,  and  not  without 
laughter,  to  his  narrative. 

"  Perhaps  resignation  is  the  best,  my  dear  captain,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  can  feel  for  you  in  your  distress.  I  have  lis 
tened  to  your  relation  with  much  entertainment,  and  'tis 
certainly  another  touch  added  to  Captain  Foy  in  my  imagin 
ation.  He  seems  to  me  a  mixture  of  the  soldier  and  the 
diplomatist,  the  tiger  and  the  lamb." 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  captain,  "  that  hits  him  to  the  very 
letter." 

.  "  Well,  may  be  his  lamb's  fleece  will  fall  off  and  he  will 
show  his  teeth.     Let  us  hope  for  the  best !" 

And,  laughing,  St.  John  rose  and  followed  the  soldier  to 
the  street. 

As  they  reached  the  portico  of  the  tavern,  St.  John  saw 
Lindon  pass,  and  the  two  adversaries  exchanged  a  ceremo 
nious  salute.  On  the  part  of  St.  John,  this  salute  was  per 
fectly  polite  and  frank ;  on  the  part  of  Lindon,  formal  and 
almost  haughty,  his  dark  eyes  glittering  with  a  sinister  ex- 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  299 

pression  in  his  pale,  cold  face,  as  he  passed  on  and  disap 
peared. 

"  There  's  another  of  the  snakes,  if  I  'm  not  greatly  mis 
taken,"  said  the  captain,  "  and  I  advise  you  to  keep  a  good 
look-out  when  you  pass  dark  corners.  A  man  with  an  eye 
like  that  can't  possibly  be  honest,  and  now,  my  dear  friend, 
I  must  return  home.  To  our  next  meeting !" 

And  the  friends  separated — the  captain  to  mount  his 
horse,  St.  John  to  attend  to  the  business  which  brought 
him  to  Williamsburg. 


CHAPTER 

SOME   OLD   FRIENDS — AT  LEAST  THE   AUTHOR   HOPES   SO.* 

ST.  JOHN'S  business  was  nothing  more  nor  less,  says  our 
author,  than  some  pecuniary  arrangements  in  connection 
with  his  proposed  embarkation  upon  the  seas  of  matrimony, 
and  the  agent  in  these  arrangements  was  a  certain  Mr. 
A.  Z.  Smith,  factor. 

We  should  like  to  pause  in  our  narrative,  and  once  more 
enter  the  small  warehouse  of  the  worthy  factor,  salute  the 
round-faced  shopboy,  who,  as  of  old,  presides  with  smiles 
over  the  domain  of  tin  pans  and  flitches,  whips  and  boxes 
of  tobacco,  in  perennial  youth.  We  should  like  to  enter  the 
little  counting-room  beyond,  where  Mr.  A.  Z.  Smith,  as  in 
old  days,  transacts  his  real  business  with  his  courtly  custom 
ers,  and  taste  his  rum,  and  see  the  picture  of  his  mustachioed 
ancestor,  and  admire  his  great  ledgers  chronicling  the  busi 
ness  of  a  lifetime.  But,  unfortunately,  Mr.  A.  Z.  Smith, 
factor,  is  not  destined  to  affect  the  current  of  our  narrative, 
which  runs  in  other  channels  past  the  little  shop. 

Mr.  St.  John  was  with  Mr.  A.  Z.  Smith  a  portion  of  every 
clay,  and  the  smiling  little  factor  made  him  his  best  bows 

*  The  -worthy  author  of  this  chapter  seems  to  refer  to  some  scenes  and 
events  in  a  previous  history. 


800  HENRY    ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

when  he  appeared,  and  went  away ;  that  salute  of  familiar 
respect  which  the  wealthy  bourgeois  bestowed  at  the  period 
on  one  of  the  gentry. 

After  these  business  interviews  Mr.  St.  John  was  idle 
for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and  one  morning  he  thought  he 
would  take  a  gallop  into  the  country  for  the  benefit  of  the 
air. 

He  accordingly  mounted  Tallyho,  and  putting  spur  to 
that  spirited  animal,  was  soon  beyond  the  limits  of  the  town, 
careering  through  the  summer  forest,  in  the  direction  of 
Captain  Ralph's. 

Tallyho  seemed  to  think  that  the  choice  of  the  road  was 
left  to  himself,  and  his  master  soon  found  that  he  had  di 
verged  from  the  highway,  and  that  they  had  arrived  in  front 
of  a  certain  mansion  known  as  the  "Trap,"  where  resided 
a  certain  Mr.  Jack  Hamilton. 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  man,  smiling,  "  why  not  go  in 
and  see  Jack  ?  I  'm  idle,  and  I  '11  stop." 

With  which  words  he  halted  and  dismounted  before  the 
mansion. 

An  old  gray-haired  African  came,  respectfully,  to  take  the 
bridle  of  one  of  the  new  generation,  and  this  bridle  was 
loftily  relinquished  by  the  perennial  old  nobleman  of  the 
stables  to  a  grotesque  individual  about  four  feet  high,  ad 
dressed  by  the  euphonious  name  of  Crow. 

Mr.  Crow  still  rolled  in  his  gait,  distended  his  large  popped 
eyes,  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  and  if  he  did  not  turn  sum 
mersets,  danced  as  before,  with  like  danger  of  trenching  on 
the  rights  of  his  sweeping  coat  skirts. 

Mr.  Hamilton  received  his  friend  with  great  cordiality, 
and  laughed  heartily  when,  over  a  bottle  of  claret,  Mr.  St. 
John  related  the  interview  between  Captain  Waters  and 
the  secretary. 

"  The  fact  is,  my  dear  St.  John,"  he  said,  "  our  friend, 
Waters,  is  a  trump,  and  sooner  or  later,  I  predict,  will  run 
the  secretary  through  the  body.  Eh  ?  Do  n't  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Not  unlikely." 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  301 

"  He  '11  do  his  work  better  than  you  did  in  the  case  of 
Lindon." 

"  I  'm  very  glad  of  the  result  in  that  case,  my  dear  Ham 
ilton." 

"Glad?" 

"  Certainly ;  you  see,  I  'm  naturally  indisposed  to  shed 
blood,  and  I  was  forced  into  that  duel.  I  begin  to  think  all 
duels  folly  though,  and  there 's  the  whole  matter." 

Hamilton  laughed. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said ;  "  there 's  a  little  angel  who  's 
been  talking  to  you,  doubtless — come,  do  n't  blush,  my  boy, 
she  certainly  is  an  angel,  and  if  I  'm  not  mistaken,  you  wish 
to  monopolize  her." 

St.  John  stopped  blushing,  and  smiled. 

"  See  how  the  world  is  given  to  scandal,"  he  said. 

"  Scandal,"  exclaimed  his  friend ;  "  do  you  deny  it  ?" 

"  I  wiU  reply  by  asking  you  a  question,  my  friend." 

"  Ask  it,  Harry,  my  boy." 

"Do  n't  you  understand  the  real  motive  of  my  visits  to 
Vanely  ?" 

"I  think  I  do,"  observed  Mr.  Hamilton,  -  triumphantly ; 
"you  go  thither  in  order — " 

"To  see  Colonel  Vane  on  important  business!  Yes,  I 
perceive  you  know  my  affairs  thoroughly !" 

And  Mr.  St.  John  concluded  with  a  burst  of  laughter 
which  caused  Jack  Hamilton  to  look  rather  sheepish. 

"  I  've  plainly  got  the  better  of  you,  my  dear  fellow,"  said 
St.  John,  "  and  now  I  shall  leave  you  to  continue  my  ride. 
I  want  exercise — come,  go  with  me." 

"  Willingly  ;  I  have  a  little  message  for  the  squire  at  the 
Hall  yonder-— let  us  go  there." 

Mr.  St.  John  assented,  and  very  soon  the  two  friends  were 
in  the  saddle  and  on  their  way  to  Effingham  Hall.  The 
old  mansion  ere  long  rose  before  them,  and  they  passed  be 
neath  the  great  trees,  and  stopped  at  the  door. 

On  the  portico,  the  old  squire,  now  grown  gray,  but  lusty 
and  determined  as  before,  was  arguing  vigorously  with  his 


302  HENKY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

old  neighbor,  Mr.  Lee,  on  whose  head  had  also  descended 
the  snows  of  those  ten  additional  winters.  As  in  long  past 
days,  the  squire  indignantly  denied  the  propositions  of  his 
friend  before  they  were  enunciated,  and,  in  contrast  to  all 
this  violent  discussion  of  the  gray  heads,  at  their  feet  a  child 
was  busily  weaving  larkspurs — those  little  flowers  resem 
bling  goblin  hoods — into  a  wreath,  intent  upon  her  toil  and 
wholly  indifferent  to  the  progress  of  the  argument. 

Mr.  Champ  Effingham  and  Madam  Clare  came  forth  to 
welcome  their  friends — the  one  calm  and  serene,  the  other 
smiling  and  bright — and  behind  these,  Mr.  William  Effing- 
ham,  raised  his  intelligent  head,  and  shot  a  stately  smile ; 
one  hand  extended  courteously,  the  other  supporting  a  form 
leaning  on  his  arm. 

Before  this  latter,  says  our  worthy  author,  with  her  joy 
and  beauty,  and  perennial  loveliness  and  goodness ;  before 
Kate  Effingham,  now  as  in  old  days,  the  queen  of  purity 
and  meekness,  the  present  chronicler  bends  to  the  very 
ground,  and  takes  his  hat  off  and  does  homage,  as  in  pres 
ence  of  an  empress.  Not  in  vain  has  his  pen,  gliding 
through  the  hours,  and  taking  him  from  present  scenes  to 
older  days  and  figures  ;  not  in  vain  has  his  pen  labored,  as 
the  painter's  brush  does,  to  delineate  the  lovely  visions  of 
the  past,  when  this  fair  form  remains  to  speak  of  him. 
Among  those  faces  and  characters  which  he  tried  to  draw, 
and  which  he  is  fain  to  hope,  the  readers  of  the  present 
chronicle  will  have  also  looked  on — among  all  the  figures 
of  his  former  history,  not  one  contents  him  but  this  maiden. 
Everywhere  something  is  to  add  to  make  the  drawing 
worthier,  something  to  take  away,  an  outline  to  round,  a 
trait  to  expand  ;  but  here  he  can  add  nothing.  Not  from 
his  idle  imagination  could  this  picture  have  proceeded — this 
vision  of  purity  and  joy.  A  portrait  painter  simply,  he  can 
claim  no  laurels  such  as  are  justly  due  to  the  great  artist 
originating  from  an  inner  impulse  something  new  and  beau 
tiful.  Old  letters,  yellow  and  faded,  and  crumbling  into 
dust,  told  of  that  fairest  maiden ;  and  her  portrait  yonder, 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  303 

laughing  on  my  wall,  spoke  audibly  the  words  I  read,  with 
pensive  smiles,  from  the  old  sheet  her  snowy  fingers  rested 
on.  I  read  those  dear  old  letters  often — letters  commen 
cing,  "  Dearest  Bonnybel,"  and  ending,  "  Your  own  Kate" — 
and  thus,  with  these  memorials,  I  knew  what  loveliness  and 
goodness  the  original  of  the  portrait  was  endowed  with. 
Then  with  this  image  of  the  maiden  of  the  last  century, 
blended  the  fair  figure  of  a  child  of  the  present  age — a  child 
of  such  rare  and  touching  purity  and  truth,  that  thinking  of 
her  now,  I  grow  young  again  almost,  and  live  in  the  scenes 
of  other  years — bright  years  which  have  flown,  but  left  be 
hind  the  aroma  of  their  joy  and  tenderness,  and  sunshine. 
Thus  I  am  satisfied,  as  far  as  that  is  possible  in  any  instance, 
with  the  picture  of  this  maiden — I  have  nothing  to  add,  no 
trait  to  change.  I  shall  never  do  the  like  again,  and  I  dare 
not  introduce  her  into  the  present  history,  or  even  so.  much 
as  repeat  her  letters.  As  she  passes  before  me  smiling  and 
beautiful,  with  the  light  on  her  hair  and  in  her  tender  eyes ; 
as  she  glides  on  thus  like  a  vision  or  a  dream ;  I  stand  aside 
as  she  moves,  and  only  smile  as  I  look,  and  return  to  that 
life  which  is  poor  and  cold  without  her,  for  it  holds  no  figure 
adequate  to  represent  her  beauty ! 

After  this  fashion  does  our  worthy  old  chronicler  dis 
course  upon  the  subject  of  Mrs.  William  Eflingham,  which 
lady  seems  to  have  been  an  extreme  favorite  with  him.  In 
the  former  portion  of  this  MSS.  this  feeling  of  complaisant 
satisfaction  with  his  work  more  than  once  appears,  and  as, 
doubtless,  the  character  of  Miss  Kate  Effingham  shone  fairer 
for  him  than  it  can  for  the  reader,  we  may  pardon  his  rhap 
sody,  as  the  harmless  exhibition  of  that  fondness  for  youth 
ful  recollections,  which  frequently  characterizes  elderly  gen 
tlemen. 

We  should  extract  the  author's  account  of  Mr.  St.  John's 
visit  to  Effingham  Hall,  which  he  describes  at  length,  repeat 
ing  all  the  conversation  of  the  personages,  but  unfortunate 
ly  our  narrative  leads  us  to  more  important  scenes. 

The  friends  remained  to  dinner,  which  was  served  at  an 


304  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

early  hour,  and  then  departing,  the  two  gentlemen  returned 
homeward — Mr.  Hamilton  to  the  "  Trap,"  and  Mr.  St.  John 
toward  Williamsburg. 

His  route  lay  in  the  direction  of  the  old  field  school, 
and  just  as  he  came  opposite  that  sylvan  academe,  Uncle 
Jimmy  Doubleday  terminated  the  toil  of  the  day,  and  gave 
the  summons  of  dismissal  to  his  flock  of  chirping  youngsters, 
male  and  female. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

• 

THE     SECOND     WARNING. 

THE  young  man  was  in  an  idle  mood,  and  attracted  by 
the  fresh  faces  of  the  children,  always  favorites  -with  him, 
halted,  and  turning  in  his  saddle,  followed  their  gay  gam 
bols  with  a  pleased  smile. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  figure  detached  itself  from  the 
merry  flock  of  boys  and  girls,  and  this  little  figure  ap 
proached  the  fence,  and  made  Mr.  St.  John  a  smiling  curte- 
sey. 

It  was  Blossom,  and  the  young  lady  seemed  to  experience 
much  pleasure  in  again  meeting  with  her  friend. 

The  man  and  the  child  had  scarcely  exchanged  greetings 
when  Uncle  Jimmy  Doubleday  himself  made  his  appearance, 
framed,  like  a  gigantic  pedagogue,  in  the  doorway  of  the 
old  field  school.  Seeing  Mr.  St.  John,  Uncle  Jimmy  came 
toward  that  gentleman,  walking,  with  the  dignity  of  a  patri 
arch,  in  the  midst  of  his  family  and  tribe. 

"  You  behold  a  pleasing  sight,  my  dear  Mr.  St.  John," 
said  Uncle  Jimmy,  taking  off  his  great  goggles,  and  extend 
ing  the  hand  holding  them  toward  the  flocks  of  children. 
"  I  hold  not  with  the  heathen  philosophers  that  children  are 
as  ciphers  in  the  state  ;  to  my  mind,  they  are  meadow  flow 
ers  which  gladden  the  hearts  of  those  who  look  upon  them, 


HENRY   ST.    JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  305 

and  in  all  the  various  relations  of  our  life,  wield  mighty  in 
fluences." 

Uncle  Jimmy  stooped,  in  a  dignified  way,  to  button  a 
negligent  "  point"  of  his  splatterdashes  as  he  spoke,  and 
then  pulled  his  long  waistcoat  again  carefully  to  his  knees. 

"  I  think  with  you,  Mr.  Doubleday,"  replied  the  young 
man  smiling,  "  that  they  are  great  blessings ;  their  affection 
often  outweighs  that  of  older  persons." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true,"  said  Uncle  Jimmy,  placing  a  fatherly 
hand  on  the  sunny  curls  of  little  Blossom,  who  stood  de 
murely  by  him,  one  foot  based  firmly  on  the  ground,  the 
other  poised  upon  the  toe  of  her  slipper — the  neat  stockings, 
without  crease  or  fold,  beneath  the  short  skirt ;  "  that  is 
true,  Mr.  St.  John,  and  in  my  little  friend,  Blossom,  here, 
who  seems  to  know  you,  I  recognize  a  treasure  of  goodness 
and  affection.  Nay,  do  n't  blush,  my  child  ;  I  like  to  praise 
you  for  your  dutiful  and  obedient  conduct.  I  only  wish  you 
would  give  a  little  of  your  character  to  that  young  scamp, 
Paul,  who  narrowly  escaped  the  birch  this  morning." 

And  Uncle  Jimmy  smiled. 

Before  Blossom  could  defend  her  sweetheart,  Uncle  Jim 
my  felt  a  hand  on  the  skirt  of  his  long  coat,  and  turning 
round,  beheld  the  smiling  physiognomy  of  Master  Paul. 

"  I  say,  Uncle  Jimmy,"  said  that  young  man,  "  I  did  n't 
mean  to  hit  you  on  the  nose,  shooting  that  pea.  I  was  only 
trying  Bob  Dandridge's  popgun,  and  I  did  n't  mean  for  it  to 
go  off." 

"  Behold,  Mr.  St.  John,  the  depravity  of  the  character  of 
children,"  said  Uncle  Jimmy,  with  philosophic  severity; 
"  this  youth  is  really  incorrigible ;  reproving  does  not  af 
fect  him  in  the  least ;  he  always  begs  off  in  a  way  which  in 
dicates  a  natural  genius  for  the  forum." 

And  Uncle  Jimmy  frowned  at  Paul,  after  which  he  turned 
away  his  head  to  smile. 

Whether  Master  Paul  saw  the  smile  or  not,  we  can  not 
say,  but  he  uttered  the  observation,  "  Uncle  Jimmy,  me  and 
Blossom  like  you  very  much,"  after  which  the  youngster 


306  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

ran  to  his  pony,  and  putting  Blossom  up  behind  him,  gal 
loped  off  to  ward  "Roseland,"  her  father's  cottage. 

"  Such  is  the  nature  of  children,"  said  Uncle  Jimmy, 
smiling  and  taking  a  pinch  of  rapparee,  which  he  offered  to 
his  friend,  "  they  laugh  at  every  thing." 

"I  think  'tis  a  better  philosophy  than  groaning,"  said 
St.  John. 

"  Doubtless,  but  many  disappointments  await  them ;  life 
is  a  hard  enemy.  A  decade  from  this  moment  and  they  will 
change  their  merriment  to  sorrow,  their  smiles  to  sighing." 

St.  John  smiled. 

"  Then  your  theory  questions  the  possibility  of  perfect 
happiness  to  adults,"  he  said. 

"Almost,"  replied  Uncle  Jimmy. 

"  Suppose  a  grown  man,  as  this  child  will  be  in  the  de 
cade  you  speak  of;  suppose  such  a  man  is  loved  devotedly 
by  a  woman,  all  purity  and  truth,"  said  the  young  man, 
smiling  with  his  happy  secret ;  "  suppose  the  whole  treasure 
of  a  beautiful  and  noble  nature  is  his  own ;  is  not  that  some 
thing  like  the  happiness  you  deny  men  ?" 

Uncle  Jimmy  shook  his  head. 

"Time  is  uncertain,"  he  said;  " woman  more  uncertain 
than  time." 

"  Some  are,"  said  St.  John,  laughing  at  his  companion's 
ignorance  ;  "  others  are  the  pole  stars  of  the  earth." 

Uncle  Jimmy  shook  his  head  again. 

"  It  is  well  to  look  keenly  to  see  whether  the  star  we  have 
taken  for  the  polar  light,  is  not  in  the  constellation  of  the 
Serpent — Scorpio,  my  friend.  Truly  hath  it  been  said  by 
Horatius, 

"  ' uxorem  cum  dote  fidemque  et  amicos 

Et  genus,  et  formam,  regina  Pecunia,  donat ;' 

meaning,  as  you  doubtless  comprehend,  that  women  are  oft 
swayed  by  worldly  considerations.  But  let  me  not  seem 
uncharitable.  Perhaps  grief  has  soured  me  and  clouded  my 
eyes.  It  is  the  old  who  chant  the 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  307 

"  '  Prsecipe  lugubrea 
Cantus,  Melpomene,' 

and  beating  their  breasts  cry,  *  Oh,  Postumus  !  Postumus  I 
how  the  flying  years  glide  away : 

"  'Eheu  fugaces,  Postume,  Postumel 
Labuntur  annil' " 

And  Uncle  Jimmy  sighed  and  was  silent,  betaking  him 
self,  for  consolation,  to  his  snuff  again. 

In  taking  the  box  from  his  pocket,  he  dropped  a  letter, 
which  came  out  with  it,  and  as  this  circumstance  did  not  at 
tract  his  attention,  St.  John  pointed  to  it. 

Uncle  Jimmy  stooped  to  pick  it  up  rather  hastily,  and  the 
young  man's  eye  chanced  to  fall  upon  the  direction.  He 
smiled,  for  it  was  in  a  lady's  handwriting. 

"  That  seems  to  be  from  a  fair  friend — is  it  not  ?"  he  said, 
laughing. 

o          o 

"  Y-es,"  observed  Uncle  Jimmy,  rather  shyly,  "  it  is  from 
a  friend  of  mine." 

"A  lady?" 

"  Well,  yes,  my  dear  Mr.  St.  John,  but  the  affair  is  sim 
ply — Platonic — simply  that,  upon  my  word,  sir." 

And  Uncle  Jimmy  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket.  St.  John 
did  not  say  that  the  preaching  and  practicing  of  the  philo 
sopher  badly  agreed,  but  he  thought  so,  and  thus  triumphed. 

After  a  little  more  friendly  conversation,  they  parted,  and 
Uncle  Jimmy  returned  toward  the  old  field  school  house, 
now  deserted.  Mr.  St.  John  continued  his  way  back  to 
Williamsburg,  smiling. 

"  What  an  amusing  illustration  of  human  philosophy  that 
was !"  he  said,  "  but  how  strange  that  thus,  for  the  second 
time  in  three  or  four  days,  I  have  listened  to  a  voice  uncon 
sciously  bidding  me  distrust  my  happiness,  and  prepare  for 
a  change,  for  misery.  The  other  day  it  was,  '  Heaven  will 
not  permit  you  to  rust  in  the  sloth  of  happiness  at  such  a 
crisis ;'  to-day  it  is,  '  Woman  are  scorpions !'  What  sad 


308  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

philosophy !  Ah,  they  do  not  know  that  the  gift  of  this  no 
ble  love  comes  straight  from  heaven,  and  will  purify  me ; 
they  do  not  know  that  whatever  other  women  may  be,  this 
one  is  nearly  an  angel  in  faithfulness  and  truth.  A  change 
in  her  love  !  I  should  sooner  look  to  see  the  star  of  even 
ing  yonder  dart  from  its  orbit,  and  fade  into  nothing.  How 
unhappy  must  these  poor  hearts  have  been,  to  doubt  the 
certainty  of  my  happiness  !" 

And  smiling  tranquilly,  the  young  man  went  upon  his 
way. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

HOW  ST. "JOHN  DREW  HIS   SWORD,   AND   STEUCK  AT  A 

SHADOW. 

"  WILLIAMSBURG,  Tuesday. 
"  MY  DEAR  TOM, 

"  I  send  you  the  contents  of  your  memorandum,  as  far 
as  I  could  procure  the  articles,  and  am  sorry  to  hear  that 
you  are  indisposed.  I  trust  'tis  but  trifling.  I  might  beg 
your  pardon  for  detaining  Dick,  and  for  sending  an  inferior 
cpality  of  hair  powder,  but  I  have  been  too  much  troubled 
to  have  my  right  wits  about  me. 

"  Instead  of  trying  to  think  of  some  news,  which  't  is  cer 
tain  this  execrable  place  do  n't  afford,  I  will  proceed  to  tell 
you  the  origin  of  my  trouble.  I  do  n't  know  if  it 's  a  natural 
weakness,  or  springs  from  the  depth  of  the  feeling  I  experi 
ence,  but  I  think  it  will  relieve  me  to  unburden  my  trouble 
to  a  true  friend  like  yourself,  and  perhaps  you  will  be  able 
to  give  me  some  cheering  view  of  the  affair. 

"I  will  announce  the  cause  of  my  trouble  at  once.  I 
have  just  returned  from  Vanely,  and  the  person  that  I  love 
more  than  the  whole  world  has  received  me  almost  with 
coldness. 

"  Can  you  imagine  the  possibility  of  that  ?     Do  n't  you 


HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  309 

think  I  am  out  of  my  senses  ?  You  know,  as  so  true  a 
friend  deserved  to  know,  the  whole  of  my  position  there, 
and  every  thing ;  and  this  knowledge  will  make  you  doubt 
my  sanity.  When  you  have  heard  my  narrative,  however, 
which  I  write  with  a  heavy  heart,  you  will  be  forced  to  be 
lieve  me. 

"  I  had  been  here  attending  to  my  affairs  for  more  than  a 
sen'night,  when  one  morning,  having  dispatched  my  esti 
mates — for  the  building  up  yonder,  you  know — sooner  than 
I  expected,  I  felt  an  absolute  thirst  for  her  society,  and  de 
termined  to  gallop  all  the  way  to  Vanely  to  have  a  little  of 
it.  Out  of  her  presence  I  only  breathe,  I  think — I  do  not 
live,  or  enjoy  existence.  I  had  felt  indeed  for  these  seven 
days  during  which  I  was  absent,  that  the  world  would  be  but 
a  poor  place  for  me  without  her ;  that  I  would  not  care  to 
live ;  and  away  from  her  now  for  even  this  small  space,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  sun  did  not  shine  as  brightly,  and  that 
even  the  orioles  which  flew  over  the  roof  tops  sang  almost, 
harshly.  I  'm  not  ashamed  to  say  I  love  her  with  my  whole 
heart  and  soul,  and  I  had  to  go  and  see  her  again  ! 

"  Well,  I  went,  and  although  she  received  me  with  happy 
smiles,  I  thought  I  discerned  some  constraint,  and  even  a 
certain  coldness  in  her  air.  I  make  you  my  father  confessor 
for  the  nonce,  and  I  pour  my  story  into  your  friendly  ear. 
It  troubles  me,  Tom,  and  I  have  to  speak.  I  could  not  have 
imagined  this  thing — making  a  buggaboo  for  my  private 
annoyance — I  discerned  this  coolness  plainly,  for  the  eyes 
of  a  man  who  feels  as  I  do  toward  her,  grow  supernaturally 
penetrating,  his  ears  nervously  sensitive  to  the  most  deli 
cate  variations  in  the  tone  of  voice.  It  seems  to  me  that 
since  I  have  loved  this  beautiful  girl,  I  have  received  the 
faculty  of  plunging  into  her  very  soul,  and  often  I  have 
read  her  very  thoughts,  and  replied  in  such  a  way  as  to 
startle  her.  I  can  not  explain  this  thing,  which  I  blunder 
out  without  expressing  my  meaning  in  the  least ;  but  I 
mean  that  every  shadow  passing  over  the  mirror  of  her 
mind  seems  to  cloud  my  own  ;  every  happy  thought  in  her 


810  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

bosom  seems  to  be  transferred  to  my  own  heart.  I  share 
her  disquiet,  partake  of  her  joy,  and  down  to  the  least  sen 
timent,  the  most  minute  and  varying  emotion — what  af 
fects  her  affects  me,  even  before  she  has  spoken — for  I  love 
her. 

"Whether  you  understand  this  rhapsodical  passage  or 
not,  it  contains  none  the  less  the  very  simplest  truth,  and 
the  sympathy  thus  existing  between  us  made  me  at  once 
aware  that  in  some  way  her  feeling  for  me  had  been  modi 
fied.  The  family  did  not  observe  the  least  change ;  and  the 
explanation  of  that  fact  was  very  simple.  They  might  have 
attributed  a  much  greater  constraint  to  mere  bashfulness 
at  her  position,  always  an  embarrassing  one,  I  am  told,  to 
young  girls.  Certain  it  is  they  saw  nothing. 

"  As  I  have  told  you  over  and  over — for  my  distress  makes 
me  garrulous  and  disconnected — I  saw  it  distinctly.  The 
sailor  sees  and  notes  with  attention  and  anxiety  the  cloud 
no  larger  than  the  hand  of  a  child  on  the  far  horizon  of  the 
sea,  while  the  landsman  only  looks  up  when  the  rain  begins 
to  fall,  or  the  thunder  mutters  and  the  lightnings  flash  ! 
The  reason  is,  that,  to  the  latter,  it  is  but  a  question  of  rain 
which  he  may  avoid  by  entering  his  house,  while  the  re 
mote  speck  for  the  sailor  contains  storm  and  tempest  which 
may  plunge  his  craft  beneath  the  hungry  waves,  and  himself 
with  it. 

"  I  weary  you,  Tom,  with  my  poor  wandering  words,  but 
I  repeat  that  this  troubles  me.  I  saw  in  her  eyes  that  inde 
finable  shadow  which  indicates  a  change ;  there  was  no  longer 
the  same  sunny  frankness,  the  same  joy  and  abandonment, 
if  I  may  use  the  word.  With  a  smile,  assumed  to  hide  my 
disquiet,  I  asked  her  if  my  absence  had  tried  her  affection — 
my  '  lengthy  sojourn  in  foreign  lands,'  I  said,  making  a  jest, 
you  see,  or  attempting  to — and  she,  with  a  smile  which  I 
thought  as  forced  as  my  own,  said,  '  Oh  no,  how  could  I  say 
such  a  thing  ?'  But  the  constraint  remained,  and  after  a 
hundred  attempts  to  fathom  the  mystery,  I  gave  up  in  de 
spair. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  311 

"  I  remained  from  the  evening  of  one  day  to  the  morning 
of  the  third  day.  I  think  the  constraint  grew  almost  to 
coldness  before  I  departed,  and,  as  I  write,  I  am  greatly  dis 
tressed.  You  see,  Tom,  this  is  no  trival  affair  with  me.  I 
have  built  all  my  future  on  the  broad  foundation  of  this 
woman's  love,  and  I  can  not  love  lightly.  Where  the  heart 's 
given  with  me,  it 's  given  for  ever,  and  this  troubles  me. 
Formerly  nothing  troubled  me;  but  I  am  changed  now. 
I  no  longer  look  upon  life  with  that  careless  and  almost  dis- 
•  dainful  indifference  with  which  I  once,  regarded  it.  You 
may  have  heard  me  say  a  thousand  times  that  nothing  could 
annoy  me  long  or  deeply,  that  I  was  '  sufficient  for  myself,' 
that  the  world  and  its  inhabitants  might  go  their  way  and 
I  would  go  mine,  unmoved  by  their  opinion  good  or  bad, 
unaffected  either  by  their  love  or  their  hatred — at  leastv 
greatly.  Well,  now,  I  say  that  no  longer.  I  wish  every, 
body's  good  opinion  ;  for  the  expression  of  this  good  opinion 
doubtless  gives  her  pleasure.  Can't  you  understand  my 
meaning  ?  Can't  you  see  how  a  man  who  formerly  laughed 
at  the  idea  of  being  moved  in  the  least  by  a  world  of  women, 
now  fixes  his  eyes  upon  a  single  one's  face,  and  lives  only 
when  he  thinks  of  her  or 's  with  her  ?  I  am  even  proud  of 
my  bondage,  for  I  know  that  the  chain  binding  me  binds 
her,  that  my  love  is  as  much  to  her  as  her  own  is  to  me — at 
least  it  was  the  other  week. 

"I  write  the  words  with  a  heavy  heart.  I  tell  you,  Tom, 
there 's  no  doubt  about  the  coldness.  The  absence  of  her 
former  frankness  and  joy  was,  and  is,  proof  strong  as  holy 
writ.  Something  has  come  between  us,  I  know  not  what. 
Write  what  you  think  of  it ;  I  am  blind,  I  confess  it.  Like 
that  seer  of  the  middle  age,  who  bartered  all  his  lore  for 
love,  and  gave  up  willingly  his  power  over  the  invisible 
denizens  of  earth  and  air,  to  be  a  simple  mortal,  and  lean  on 
a  woman's  bosom,  as  her  equal  and  love  ;  like  him,  I  have 
lost,  perhaps,  my  penetration  ;  I  am  troubled,  it  may  even 
be,  by  a  chimera,  for  I  confess  I  begin  to  distrust  myself. 
If  she  is  untrue,  then  all  things  are  false,  and,  with  the  rest, 


312  HENTIY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

my  intellect.  Friend,  help  me  to  extricate  myself  from 
this  web,  which  seems  to  be  even  now  closing  round  me, 
wrapping  me  closer  and  closer  in  its  mysterious  folds.  I 
scarcely  know  what  I  write,  and  I  doubt  if  it  is  sense  ;  but 
there  is  something,  I  know  not  what — I  feel  it !  I  breathe 
it!  There  is  some  evil  at  work  upon  my  life!  I  am  not 
superstitious,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  a  cloud  is  rising  some 
where,  with  which  I  am  to  struggle,  though  I  can  not  grasp 
it.  Have  you  never  felt  this  irrational  foreboding  ?  If  you 
have  not,  you  will  laugh  at  me,  but  your  laugh  will  not  affect 
me.  You  must  first  tell  me  why  here,  in  the  morning,  with 
the  sunlight  around  me,  with  my  nerves  perfectly  healthful, 
my  pulse  beating  with  its  wonted  regularity  ;  why  thus,  in 
perfect  health  of  mind  and  body,  I  feel  as  if  a  dark  fate  were 
at  work  upon  my  life,  travailing  to  bring  forth  my  misery ! 

"  That  you  will  think  me  insane  after  this  full  and  unre 
served  expression  of  what  I  meant  to  conceal,  even  from 
you,  friend,  I  fully  expect.  Whatever  you  think,  I  can  not 
complain.  I  frankly  confess  that  I  have  given  you  but  sorry 
and  foolish  grounds  for  my  disquiet. 

"  What !  I  hear  you  say,  St.  John  become  superstitious, 
trembling  at  such  bugbears  of  the  fancy  as  are  only  fit  to 
frighten  nervous  women  !  St.  John,  the  careless  fellow  with 
the  stalwart  shoulders,  the  iron  nerves,  the  smiling  lips ; 
who  touched  his  sword  hilt,  and  boasted  that  he  was  ready 
to  meet  any  foe,  and  would  have  laughed  in  derision  at  the 
very  intimation  of  imaginary  disquietude  !  St.  John,  now 
crouching  and  shrinking  under  an  invisible  lash,  wielded  by 
airy  hands !  St.  John  a-trembling,  like  a  baby,  at  the  sight 
of  a  buggaboo,  and  whining  out  mysterious  influences  ! — 
secret  warnings  I  I  hear  you  say  that,  and  I  fancy  you 
shaking  your  head,  and  thinking  that  from  this  time  forth, 
you  can  never  trust  in  human  boastings,  or,  any  man,  how 
ever  healthy  's  nerves.  Well,  friend,  be  it  as  you  will ;  I 
do  not  try  to  convince  you — I  yield.  Say,  if  you  choose, 
that  I  am  mastered  by  a  dream,  a  vision  of  the  night,  a  very 
shadow  and  chimera.  But  I  am  none  the  more  convinced, 


HENEY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  313 

none  the  less  mastered  by  my  insanity,  if  you  like  the  word. 
I  tell  you,  friend,  earnestly,  strongly  !  with  my  whole  force ! 
that,  even  as  I  write,  this  influence  is  growing,  increasing, 
darkening  terribly!  More  than  ever,  there  is  in  the  full 
sunshine  a  sad  splendor,  gloomier  than  midnight !  More 
than  ever,  I  thrill  with  a  nameless  dread  !  I  seem  to  see  de 
scending  on  me  a  huge  ebon  cloud !  A  thrill  runs  through 
my  veins — my  hair  stands  up  !  there  are  forms  around  me ; 
one,  that  of  a  woman  with  cold  eyes,  and  a  sneer  which 
chills  me !  There  !  before  me  as  I  write !  Away ! 
****** 

«  Well— 

"  I  shall  end  this  letter,  my  dear  friend,  with  words  less 
fanciful  than  those  above.  Perhaps  there  is  something  wrong 
with  my  nerves ;  I  am  out  of  health,  it  may  be  ;  I  am  sick. 
For,  after  writing  those  hurried  words  there,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  an  enemy  stood  beside  me,  advanced  toward  me — 
a  something,  I  know  not  what,  which  matched  itself  against 
me  !  'T  is  gone  now,  but  to  prove  to  you  how  profoundly 
I  was  moved,  look  at  that  blot  upon  the  paper.  It  was 
caused  by  my  pen  falling  from  my  trembling  fingers,  as  I 
rose  to  my  feet,  drawing  my  sword  completely  from  the 
scabbard,  and  striking  madly  at  the  air.  Doubtless  I  am 
sick,  for  even  now  my  breast  seems  contracting,  and  I 
breathe  heavily.  There,  't  is  doubtless  the  old  story  of 
Marius  cutting  at  his  visions  when  he  was  dying — the  fever 
moving  him. 

"  Yet  my  pulse  beats  regularly  again ;  I  see  myself  in  the 
mirror  yonder,  and  my  complexion  is  healthful ;  I  do  not 
seem  sick.  I  must  be,  however,  for  no  traces  of  my  delirium 
remain — I  write  calmly.  Keep  my  letter  as  a  striking  ex 
hibition  of  the  power  of  the  imagination. 

"  I  will  end  with  a  few  words  of  news.  His  Excellency 
is  said  to  regard  the  convention  of  the  delegates  with  side 
looks  and  suspicion,  and  to  threaten.  But  he  will  do  noth 
ing.  All  your  friends  are  well.  At  Vanely,  every  one  is 
well,  I  think,  and  there  is  nothing  new.  The  Italian-look- 

14 


314  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

ing  woman,  the  seamstress,  is  still  there,  and,  I  know  not 
why,  I  have  taken  up  a  prejudice  against  her.  Another  of 
my  irrational  whims,  you  will  say — well,  but  she  none  the 
more  pleases  me  with  her  dark,  wary-looking  eyes. 

"  You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that 't  is  my  decided  opinion 
that  your  shaking  begins  to  detach  the  fruit.  From  chance 
observations,  uttered  by  the  young  lady,  I  should  say  that 
another  siege  would  terminate  in  victory,  though  I  hope  the 
victor  would  not  demolish.  It  is  rather  a  sad  jest  to  make, 
but  I  hope  to  be  your  brother  Harry  some  day. 

"  I  have  writen  you  what  may  seem  a  pure  pack  of  non 
sense,  my  dear  Tom,  but 't  is  you  alone  who  will  read  it. 
We  are  old  comrades,  and  I'm  not  afraid  to  speak  my 
thoughts. 

"  Write  and  dissipate  my  trouble,  if  you  can.  Until  then, 
and  for  ever,  I  am, 

"  Your  friend, 

"H.  ST.  JOHN." 


CHAPTER  LX. 

TOM    ALSTON     TO     HENRY     ST.     JOHN. 

"  MOOREFIELD,  after  Dinner. 

"  MOST  beloved  of  friends,  and  estimable  of  gentlemen, 
but  also  most  superstitious  of  correspondents,  and  strangest 
of  Sancti  Johannes  !  I  have  perused  thy  letter  with  abun 
dant  laughter,  and  return  unto  thee  my  most  grateful  thanks 
for  dissipating  a  catarrh  which  has  troubled  me  this  fort 
night  ! 

"  In  this  mournful  vale  of  tears,  O  Henricus !  not  every 
day  do  the  immortals  vouchsafe  to  the  inhabitants  of  earth 
the  high  prerogative  and  privilege  of  inextinguishable  laugh 
ter.  This  assurance  will  I  write  unto  thee,  O  Henry !  thy 
prelection  having  rendered  it  incumbent.  Even  now  a  nasal 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  315 

uachinnation,  or  inaudible  expiration,  vulgarly  called  snicker, 
doth  bear  witness  to  the  account  given  of  your  gorgons  and 
chimeras ! 

"  In  other  words,  my  dear  boy,  to  descend  all  at  once  from 
my  ceremonious  style,  your  letter  has  made  me  laugh,  sans 
intermission,  an  hour  by  the  dial !  Per  Hercle  ! — but  my 
swearing  shall  be  confined  to  the  French.  Or,  rather,  I  '11 
not  swear  at  all,  or  laugh.  I  will  be  grave  as  Erebus. 

"  To  be  serious,  and  stop  my  jesting,  my  dear  Harry, 
pray  tell  me  what,  in  the  name  of  all  the  gods  at  once,  has 
thrown  you  into  this  nervous  state  of  mind  ?  Is  it  too  much 
work,  or  the  want  of  my  cheerful  society,  or  the  sight  of 
that  fine  gentleman,  his  Depravity  Lord  Dunmore  ?  I  have 
never  before  known  you  to  give  evidence  of  this  strange  sus 
ceptibility  to  superstitious  impressions,  and  though  I  make 
a  jest  of  your  letter,  and  certainly  did  laugh  at  first,  it  has 
been  productive,  by  this  time,  of  far  more  disquiet  to  me. 

"  You  rightly  supposed  that  I  would  consider  your  fan 
cies  the  product  of  disordered  nerves,  and  I  here  declare, 
once  for  all,  that  they  seem  to  me  the  very  climax  of  irra 
tionality,  from  first  to  last.  What !  you  can  not  permit  a 
young  girl  of  the  most  timid  and  shrinking  disposition  to 
exhibit  a  little  embarrassment  at  your  arrival — you,  her  ac 
cepted  lover,  and  I  wish  you  joy  of  it !  You  can't  let  her 
blush  a  little,  and  leave  the  burden  of  the  conversation  to 
the  rest,  and  retire  when  she  feels  sick,  or  looks  badly,  and 
fears  you  will  not  admire  her  in  that  plight,  and  therefore 
hides  herself;  you  can't  permit  those  most  natural  and  ob 
vious  every-day,  humdrum  occurrences  to  take  place,  without 
imagining  a  change  in  her  feelings,  a  diminution  of  her  love, 
an  interruption  of  her  affection?  Fie,  Harry !  'tis  but  a 
poor  lover  that  you  make,  and  I  predict  that  if  you  go  on 
with  your  fancies,  't  will  end  in  frightening  her,  and  causing 
the  very  thing  which  you  dread.  It  is  my  intention,  through 
out  the  two  following  pages,  to  dwell  upon  this  subject  of 
the  young  lady's  constraint,  which  you,  yourself,  acknowl 
edge  no  one  observed  but  a  certain  Mr.  St.  John,  gifted,  for 


316  HJENBY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

the  nonce,  with  nautical  penetration  to  discern  distant  clouds, 
and  atmospheric  phenomena,  invisible  to  landsmen  ;  it  is  my 
intention  to  proceed  at  length  to  the  refutation  of  your  fan 
cies  on  this  point,  and  then  I  shall  handle  more  briefly  the 
phantom  appearances. 

******* 

"  Having  thus  completely  demolished  your  first  point,  ab 
solutely  leveled  it  with  the  ground,  plowed  up  the  founda 
tions,  and  sowed  salt  in  the  furrows,  I  proceed  briefly,  as 
my  paper  decreases,  to  speak  of  your  phantoms.  My  dear 
Harry,  can  you  seriously  believe  in  those  idle  stories  ? 

"  There  was  a  time,  certainly,  when  the  best  minds,  ignor 
ant  and  surrounded  by  common  things  which  they  could  not 
understand,  took  refuge,  from  their  blank  thoughts,  in  an 
irrational  superstition.  Socrates,  it  is  said,  believed  in  a  fa 
miliar  spirit,  Friar  Bacon  also,  and  even  that  strong-minded 
old  fellow,  Doctor  Johnson,  to  come  nearer,  gives  credit  to 
the  story  of  the  Cock  Lane  Ghost.  The  others  had  strong 
intellects,  but  they  lived  in  an  age  of  scientific  darkness,  and 
we  may  pardon,  while  we  deplore,  the  vagaries  of  their 
imaginations.  But  that  an  educated  gentleman  of  1774, 
should  seriously  give  credence  to  the  airy  whisperings  of 
such  a  philosophy  as  you  do  !  that  you,  a  strong,  healthy, 
hearty,  educated  individual  should  believe  in  secret  warn 
ings,  and  mysterious  presentiments !  really  the  thing  grieves 
me  too  much  to  permit  any  more  laughter. 

"  I  pray  you  to  banish  these  fancies,  which  are  simply  the 
result  of  disordered  blood,  of  a  nervous  attack,  of  loss  of 
rest,  probably,  or  excess  in  the  use  of  tobacco,  the  supply  of 
which,  being  last  year's  crop,  is,  I  think,  particularly  rank 
and  violent  in  its  effect  upon  the  nerves.  Physical  causes 
very  frequently  produce  mental  effects,  and  if  you  see  the 
devil  enter,  with  horns  and  tail,  you  have  but  to  go  to  the 
next  physician's  library  to  read  an  account  of  the  same  phe 
nomenon  witnessed  a  century  ago  by  another  sick  as  you 
are. 

"  What 's  certain  is,  that  you  are  unhappy,  and  you  rightly 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  317 

think  that  nothing  that  concerns  you  is  indifferent  to  me ; 
that  nothing  you  write  will  find  in  me  an  unsympathizing 
listener.  We  have  been  friends  since  childhood,  and  though 
censorious  individuals  are  pleased  to  consider  my  carriage 
of  person  the  proof  of  a  shallow  nature,  still  I  persist  in  de 
claring  that  I  love  my  friends  as  well  and  heartily  as  the  best 
of  them,  and  among  these  friends  none  takes  a  place  before 
yourself.  I  pray  you  throw  aside  these  imaginary  troubles, 
and  do  not  doubt  that  you  have  the  entire  affection  of  that 
beautiful  nature,  than  whom  I  know  none  purer  or  more 
faithful. 

"  I  am  still  languid  from  my  attack,  or  I  would  come  to 
see  you.  Why  should  you  not  make  a  visit  hei'e  ?  Leave 
your  plans  for  'Flower  of  Hundreds,'  and  come,  for  a  day  at 
least,  and  recover  your  spirits.  You  '11  work  all  the  better 
afterwards.  I  shall  assuredly  expect  your  answer  to  this  in 
person,  and  by  word  of  mouth. 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  things.  They  are  all  excellent,  ex 
cept  the  hair  powder,  which  that  abandoned  profligate,  La- 
fonge,  has  prepared  with  musk.  My  opinion  of  that  fellow 
is,  that  he  is  a  wretch,  and  that  the  chief  end  and  aim  of  his 
whole  existence  is  to  disappoint,  wound,  and  humiliate  me. 
A  hundred  times  I  have  remonstrated  with  him,  almost  to 
tears,  on  his  conduct.  I  have  dedicated  whole  mornings  to 
the  most  pathetic  representations,  which  he  has  listened  to 
with  sobs,  standing  behind  his  counter,  and  wringing  his 
hands,  and  promising,  between  his  sniffs  of  contrition,  that 
in  future  he  will  be  perfect.  It  is  all  in  vain  ;  his  insidious 
design  is  to  mortify  and  humiliate  me ;  he  thinks  even  to 
shorten  my  days  by  his  unmanly  persecutions.  He  is  mis 
taken,  however.  This  puts  the  finish  to  our  dealings.  I 
distinctly  ordered  this  hair  powder  to  be  prepared  in  an 
apartment  which  a  suspicion  even  of  musk  had  never  en 
tered,  and  here  I  and  my  household,  the  very  dogs  and 
cats,  are  turned  into  moschine  denizens  of  Thibet,  causing 
me  to  blow  my  nose  and  groan  every  five  minutes  while  I 
write.  Well,  I  have  one  recourse  —  Lafonge  and  myself 


318  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

part  for  ever ;  I  am  tearful,  but  firm — we  separate.  I  'm 
none  the  less  obliged  to  you,  Harry  ray  boy,  for  the  trouble 
you  were  put  to. 

"  I  've  got  to  the  end  of  my  paper.  Do  not  write,  but 
come  here  and  breathe  a  purer  atmosphere. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  do  n't  yield  again  to  your  fancies, 
which  wound  and  distress  me  no  less  than  they  do  yourself. 
Forget  them,  and  come  and  have  a  laugh  with,  or  at,  if  you 
choose, 

"  Your  friend  to  the  end, 

"Ton  ALSTON." 

"P.  S. — Even  my  pointer,  Milo,  is  turning  up  his  nose  at 
the  musk,  and  regards  me  with  a  look  of  reproach  which 
penetrates  my  heart.  The  depravity  of  Lafonge  has  been 
exhibited  for  the  last  time." 


CHAPTER   LXI. 

ST.  JOHN  TELLS   HOW  A   SPIRIT  ENTERED   HIS   ROOM   AT 
MIDNIGHT. 


Wednesday. 

"  YOUR  letter,  my  dear  friend,  was  scarcely  different  from 
what  I  expected.  I  was  perfectly  well  aware  of  the  fact 
that  my  account  of  the  singular  influence  I  experienced 
would  excite  rather  laughter  than  sympathy,  and  I  even 
add  that  your  reply  contained  less  of  banter  than  I  ex 
pected. 

"  It  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  say  that  your  laughter  did  not 
annoy  me  at  all.  I  recognize  your  right  to  scold  me  as  vig- 
•  orously  as  you  choose,  for,  as  you  say,  we  are  too  close  friends 
to  stand  upon  the  least  ceremony.  I  thank  you  indeed  for 
your  letter,  filled  as  it  was,  the  greater  part  of  it,  with  the 
most  friendly  assurances  of  regard,  and  the  most  labored 


HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  319 

attempts  to  raise  my  drooping  spirits,  and  cheer  me  after 
my  afflicting  adventure.  After  reading  the  sheets  carefully 
I  laid  them  down,  thinking  your  views  admirably  just.  I 
said  to  myself  that  I  would  not  further  continue  the  discus 
sion,  but  leave  to  after  events  the  determination  of  the  mat 
ter.  I  would  willingly  believe,  if  she  met  me  as  of  old,  and 
if  the  presentiments  did  not  return,  that  I  was  merely  car 
ried  away  by  fancy,  and  there  would  be  the  end  of  the  ar 
gument,  and  your  triumph.  If,  on  the  contrary,  this  change 
became  more  marked  in  her — if  these  influences  attacked 
me  more  unmistakably — then,  too,  there  would  be  an  end 
of  the  discussion,  and  I  should  have  wofully  triumphed. 

"  I  announce  to  you,  with  a  groan  as  I  write,  that  the  last 
is  the  fact.  I  can  not  come  to  Moorefield — I  can  not  move 
now.  I  do  what  I  can — I  write. 

"  In  order  to  understand  what  has  taken  place  since  the 
arrival  of  your  letter,  and  to  make  myself  better  understood 
in  the  further  account  of  what  has  befallen  me,  I  shall  begin 
at  the  beginning,  and  trace  the  matter  through  all  its  steps ; 
briefly,  however,  for  I  am  weak  and  faint. 

"  To  go  back,  then. 

"  I  left  Vanely  a  fortnight  or  more  ago,  and  came  hither 
to  see  to  a  number  of  arrangements  connected  with  Flower 
of  Hundreds,  which  is  sadly  in  want  of  repairs,  owing,  I 
suppose,  to  my  long  absence.  As  you  may  imagine,  I  car 
ried  away  from  Vanely,  in  the  looks  and  tones  of  somebody, 
what  made  these  toils  a  happiness,  for  she  was  to  share  the 
home  I  was  bent  on  beautifying  for  her  reception. 

"I  came  hither,  therefore,  with  a  light  heart,  and  pro 
ceeded  to  work.  But  the  strangest  thing  happened  to  me 
— so  strange  in  connection  with  what  has  taken  place  since 
that — but  I  will  narrate. 

"  On  the  very  day  of  my  arrival  I  encountered  at  the 
Raleigh  tavern  that  strange  man  of  whom  I  have  spoken  to 
you  more  than  once — the  stranger  of  the  old  church  of  St. 
John,  at  Richmond  town.  We  talked  of  political  matters, 
and  when  he  came  to  allude  to  the  assistance  the  province 


320  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

demanded  from  all  her  patriotic  inhabitants,  I  returned  his 
strange  confidence  up  yonder,  by  speaking  of  myself,  and 
saying  that  I  would  be  able  to  do  little,  since  I  had  received 
from  a  woman  an  avowal  of  her  affection,  and  was  happy  and 
content,  and  disposed  to  think  all  things  in  the  world  just 
as  they  should  be.  He  replied,  with  a  strange  look,  '  Do 
not  think  that  Heaven  will  permit  you  to  withdraw  yourself 
from  the  contest.'  Those  were  his  very  words,  and  though 
I  listened  to  them  then  with  careless  inattention,  I  now  re 
member  them,  and  find  them  echoing,  like  his  deep  voice, 
in  my  mind  and  my  heart. 

"  Some  days  after  the  interview  with  the  stranger,  I  rode 
out,  went  to  Jack  Hamilton's,  and,  with  him,  visited  Effing- 
ham  Hall,  where  I  had  a  long  and  very  pleasant  conversa 
tion  with  Mrs.  Kate  Effingham,  her  friend,  you  know.  Sure 
a  woman  never  tires  of  dwelling  on  the  merits  of  her  friend, 
and  my  cheek  glowed,  I  think,  as  I  listened  to  her  praises. 
I  came  away  with  those  gracious  words  of  love  and  praise 
resounding  in  my  heart,  and  having  left  Hamilton  at  the 
'  Trap,'  proceeded  toward  Williamsburg.  I  stopped,  how 
ever,  to  exchange  a  few  words  with  old  Mr.  Doubleday  at 
the  school  house,  and  in  some  way,  here  too  the  conversa 
tion  turned  upon  human  happiness  and  the  female  charac 
ter.  As  the  stranger  had  intimated  that  Heaven  would  not 
permit  me  to  enjoy  tranquil  happiness  in  wedded  life  at  such 
a  juncture  as  the  present,  so  now  the  old  philosopher  of  the 
school  house  croaked,  '  Time  is  uncertain,  woman  more  un 
certain  than  time.'  He  presented  an  admii-able  commentary 
on  his  sermon  by  dropping,  accidentally,  a  letter  from  a  fair 
friend  with  whom  he  had  an  affair,  'simply  Platonic,'  he  said, 
and  I  came  away  laughing.  But  still  these  coincidences 
trouble  me. 

"  You  see  when  a  man  has  staked  his  whole  earthly  hap 
piness  upon  the  faith  of  a  single  heart,  he  is  no  longer  free, 
he  no  longer  laughs  with  careless  indifference  at  theories 
affecting  him ;  he  is  bound  with  a  chain  of  gold,  and  at  a 
certain  spot  he  is  forced  to  pause  and  reflect.  Happiness 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  321 

is  more  than  life  to  the  heart,  at  least,  happiness  such  as  I 
play  for,  and  I  could  not  resist  a  sentiment  of  disquiet  in 
spite  of  my  laughter  and  incredulity.  I  had  built  all  my 
hopes  on  a  woman's  faith  ;  I  had  played  my  own  happiness 
against  that  stake,  and  I  could  not  bear  in  my  mind  even  a 
suspicion  of  the  genuine  nature  of  the  coin.  See  my  mis 
erable  player  illustrations — my  figures,  borrowed  from  the 
gaming  table !  I  attempt  thus  to  divert  my  mind  from 
what  follows. 

"  Let  me  say  at  once  that  I  determined  to  go  back,  were 
it  even  for  an  hour,  to  Vanely.  I  determined  to  escape  thus 
from  my  foolish  fancies ;  the  very  sight  of  her  tender  and 
confiding  countenance  would  dissipate  my  uneasiness  and 
gloom. 

"  You  know  the  result  of  that  visit,  for  I  wrote  you  a 
lengthy  account  of  it,  laboring,  unsuccessfully  it  seems,  to 
impress  upon  you  the  singular  change  which  proved  the  ra 
tionality  of  my  fears,  first  suggested  by  the  words  of  the 
stranger  and  the  old  schoolmaster.  It  was  in  writing  that 
letter,  as  you  remember,  that  a  strange  and  mysterious  pre 
sentiment  attacked  me — a  presentiment  which  you  laughed 
at  when  you  read  my  letter,  and  argued  against  in  your  re 
ply,  as  a  mere  hallucination,  springing  from  nervousness,  or 
illness.  You  shall  judge  whether  I  was  not  sane  and  well — 
what  follows  will  cut  the  knot. 

"  Your  letter,  as  I  have  said,  communicated  to  my  mind 
great  cheerfulness.  I  read,  and  reread  it,  and  dwelt  upon 
your  views  connected  with  the  physical  and  mental  organ 
ization  attentively  and  carefully.  They  seemed  to  me  of 
excellent  soundness,  and  positively  irrefutable.  Not  only 
your  argument,  but  your  laughter,  had  a  strong  effect  upon 
me.  I  imagined  you  remonstrating  with  Lafonge — I  saw 
his  gestures — the  horror  you  experienced  at  the  discovery 
of  the  musk  ;  and  Mile's  look  of  reproach  as  you  declared. 
Your  laughter  dispelled  my  gloom ;  your  gayety  brought 
back  the  sunshine.  From  clouds  I  came  forth  into  the  sun 
ny  air ;  my  surrounding  of  presentiment  was  dispelled  by 

14* 


322  HENKY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

your  surrounding  of  merriment.  Thus,  your  arguments  and 
your  smiles  together  made  me  think  that  I  had  indeed 
yielded  to  an  unhealthy  melancholy ;  that  my  nerves  had 
disordered  ray  mind,  and  that  the  distressing  change  in  her 
demeanor  existed  only  in  my  fancy. 

"  I  therefore  determined  to  go  again  to  Vanely,  and  to 
enter  the  hospitable  doors  unaccompanied  by  the  least  sus 
picion.  All  that  should  be  left  behind  in  this  detestable 
place,  which  I  wonder  now  that  I  ever  could  have  dwelt  in. 
I  would  go  to  Vanely  with  the  smiling  face  of  the  past — 
with  my  arms  stretched  out  to  press  welcoming  hands,  as  in 
old  days.  I  would  say  to  her,  frankly,  that  I  had  foolishly 
thought  her  feelings  changed  toward  me,  and  would  have 
a  hearty  laugh  at  my  imaginary  disquiet.  Sitting  down, 
with  a  smile,  I  leaned  my  head  upon  my  hand,  and  imagined 
her  replying,  with  a  look  of  reproach,  that  I  must  have  in 
deed  been  very  ill  to  think  that  she  could  ever  change ;  and 
as  I  fancied  her  smiling  and  tender  countenance,  my  fears 
were  all  dissipated,  and  I  rose  up  joyfully  and  mounted  my 
horse. 

"  Xever  had  I  seen  a  morning  so  bright,  I  thought.  Wil- 
liamsburg  no  longer  frowned,  the  white  houses  smiled  and 
saluted  me,  as  on  one  happy  morning  when  I  cantered  by, 
from  Richmond  town,  thinking  of  her  and  laughing.  'Tal- 
lyho'  bore  me  into  the  open  country,  to  the  ferry,  across 
the  bright  waters,  and  into  the  smiling  fields  of  Vanely,  far 
away  from  turmoil  and  confusion.  As  I  entered  that  long- 
loved  land — as  I  breathed  the  fresh  and  balmy  air,  which, 
sure,  is  nowhere  so  inspiriting  as  in  our  good  Old  Dominion 
— as  I  went  along  thus  rapidly  through  forests,  and  across 
blooming  meadows,  where  the  lark  sang,  and  the  wheat 
waved  in  luxuriant  gold,  my  last  anxiety  was  dissipated,  and 
I  felt  that  I  had  not  only  been  irrational  and  ridiculous  in 
my  fancies ;  I  had  been  unjust  to  one  of  the  purest  and  love 
liest  natures  ever  sent  into  the  world. 

"I  linger  upon  these  emotions  of  freshness  and  joy,  and 
pass  to  what  followed  with  reluctance  and  a  sort  of  dread. 


HENKY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  323 

I  pause  under  the  blue  skies,  -without  a  cloud,  and  turn  away 
from  the  storm. 

"  Well,  I  came  thus  to  Vanely. 

"  What  I  write  now,  friend,  is  between  my  lips  and  your 
ear,  as  though  we  sat  alone  beneath  a  tree,  in  the  middle  of 
a  field,  you  know,  with  no  foliage  to  conceal  a  listener — for 
you,  and  you  only.  Not  only  would  it  compromise  a  young 
lady,  if  known,  by  speaking  of  her  former  demeanor  to  one 
who  is  not  the  same  to  her,  but  it  would,  perhaps,  procure 
me  the  reputation  of  a  madman,  and  make  me  the  subject 
of  a  writ  de  lunatico  inquirendo.  But  I  have  set  out  with 
the  intention  of  telling  you  all,  and  I  write  nothing  that  I 
should  not  write. 

"  Well,  to  proceed. 

"  As  I  entered  the  grounds,  I  more  than  ever  busied  my 
imagination  happily  with  the  reception  which  I  was  sure  to 
receive.  When  formerly  I  had  gone  from  Vanely  to  '  Flower 
of  Hundreds,' or  elsewhere,  and  returned  in  the  evening,  she 
had  come  always  to  meet  me,  sometimes  to  the  outer  gate, 
in  her  little  chip  hat,  with  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  flower 
in  her  hand.  On  such  occasions  I  had  strained  my  eyes, 
from  the  far  distance,  to  discern  her  form,  relieved  clearly 
against  the  emerald  sward,  and  even  '  Tallyho'  had  tossed 
his  head  when  the  fair  figure  glimmered  in  the  sunset,  for 
he  knew  and  shared  the  delight  of  his  master.  As  I  drew 
nearer,  the  animal's  speed  would  increase,  he  would  almost 
fly ;  in  a  moment  he  would  bear  me  to  her  side,  and  leaping 
from  the  saddle,  I  would  hold  in  mine  a  hand  throbbing, 
like  my  own,  with  happiness.  We  ascended  the  Vanely  hill, 
I  leading  '  Tallyho,'  she  leaning  on  my  arm,  and  stopping  at 
times  to  caress  the  neck  of  the  animal,  because  he  was  mine, 
she  said.  And  then  she  would  turn  again  with  sweeter 
smiles  to  me;  I  would  cover  her  hand  with  kisses,  and  if 
my  lips  touched  the  pure  forehead,  she  did  not  shrink,  but, 
looking  into  my  eyes  with  an  expression  of  the  tenderest 
affection,  told  me,  thus,  that  her  feeling  for  mySelf  was  an 
echo  of  my  own  for  her.  As  I  write  now,  her  eyes  shine 


324  HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

on  me ;  I  see  the  light  on  her  hair,  the  flower  in  her  hand  ; 
I  hold  that  hand,  and  groan,  and  endeavor,  in  vain,  to  for 
get! 

"  Well,  I  won't  groan  so  !  I  think  the  sound  must  have 
attracted  the  attention  of  my  servant !  A  man  can't  see  all 
his  hopes  pass  from  him,  though,  and  smile  as  they  depart. 
I  will  stop  my  recollections,  and  proceed  with  the  relation. 
It  was  in  the  manner  which  I  have  described  that  I  now  ex 
pected  to  be  met,  and,  sure,  I  thought,  she  would  at  least 
meet  me  thus,  after  an  absence  of  what  seemed  a  century  to 
myself.  I  hastened  forward,  with  eager  looks,  I  am  sure, 
certain  of  meeting  her  upon  the  portico,  or  in  the  hall,  for 
't  is  impossible  for  her  not  to  have  known  of  my  approach, 
as  '  Tallyho'  neighed  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  I  saw  the 
faces  of  the  family  looking  from  the  window.  You  know 
the  sonorous  sound  of  the  animal,  and  it  announced  my  com 
ing  from  the  commencement  of  the  winding  road,  where 
the  great  elm  stands  by  the  gate. 

"  She  was  not  on  the  portico,  she  was  not  in  the  hall. 
Instead  of  her  figure,  I  saw  Helen's  and  uncle's  advance  to 
greet  me  with  friendly  smiles  and  open  hands. 

"  I  entered  the  sitting-room.  She  was  bending  over  an 
embroidery  screen,  with  cheeks  as  red  as  blood,  and  I  saw 
her  tremble.  As  Helen  came  in  again  (uncle  had  remained 
without  to  give  orders  about  my  horse),  she  rose,  and  with 
a  sort  of  spasmodic  gesture,  held  out  her  hand.  I  took  it 
in  silence ;  nor  do  I  know  whether  I  looked  pale  or  red. 
Helen  gazed  at  her  in  silence,  too,  and  for  a  moment  she 
stood  thus,  cold  and  pale  now  as  a  statue,  and  fixing  upon 
me  eyes  which  burnt  into  my  brain,  so  wild  was  their  ex 
pression.  She  looked  like  a  stricken  bird,  and  leaned  upon 
the  screen  for  support. 

"  Helen  asked  her  if  she  were  unwell.  With  something 
like  a  gasp,  she  said,  in  a  faint  voice,  *  Yes,'  and  passing  before 
me  like  a  phantom,  was  gone.  I  heard  her  ascend  slowly 
the  broad  stair-case,  and  then,  as  her  footsteps  died  away, 
I  looked  toward  Helen  with  an  expression  of  incredulous 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  325 

despair,  and  terrible  curiosity,  at  least,  if  my  face  spoke  my 
thoughts.  Helen  was  as  profoundly  astonished  and  shocked 
as  myself,  however,  and  could  only  say  that  she  could  not 
imagine  what  made  Bonnybel  unwell.  I  saw  from  her  eyes, 
as  she  spoke,  that  she  did  not  believe  the  change  in  the 
young  girl's  manner  of  receiving  me  attributable  to  illness; 
but  we  had  no  further  opportunity  of  talking  upon  the  sub 
ject,  as  my  uncle  came  in  after  seeing  'Tallyho'  taken,  smil 
ing,  hearty,  and  cordial  as  before. 

"  The  old  gentleman  was  in  excellent  spirits,  and  asked 
me  a  thousand  questions  about  the  doings  in  Williamsburg, 
the  convention  at  the  Raleigh  tavern,  the  Governor's  view 
of  it — every  thing.  I  replied  at  random,  and  I  suppose  he 
thought  me  utterly  careless  whether  my  answers  pleased 
him  or  not.  You  see  I  was  racked  by  my  feelings ;  my 
mind  was  filled  with  an  absorbing  thought ;  I  scarcely  knew 
where  I  was.  I  gazed  at  him  when  he  spoke  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  is  waked  suddenly  from  sleep,  and  is  not  per 
mitted  time  to  collect  his  thoughts.  You  will  not  feel  as 
tonishment  at  this ;  my  only  surprise  is  that  I  did  not  burst 
forth  into  the  cry  of  an  idiot  or  a  madman,  and  toss  and 
rave. 

"I  suppose  my  uncle  thought  the  inattention  due  to  fa 
tigue,  for  he  made  me  go  and  drink  some  Canary  with  him, 
and  then  dinner  was  served.  She  did  not  appear,  but  she 
did  come  down  in  the  evening,  and  my  heart  bled  to  see 
how  pale  and  sad  she  looked.  As  she  gazed  at  me  I  saw 
her  eyes  swim  in  tears,  and  then  she  turned  away.  All  I 
could  extract  from  her  was  an  assurance  that  she  felt  grieved 
at  her  coldness  in  meeting  me,  that  she  was  very  unwell — 
had  been  suffering  much,  and — I  must  pardon  her.  She 
felt  weak  now,  and  believed  she  would  retire,  but  Helen 
would  talk  with  me ;  I  must  not  think  her  wanting  in — po 
liteness — or — or — affection.  She  uttered  the  word  with  a 
hesitation,  a  flush  in  her  cheeks,  and  a  swimming  of  the  eyes, 
which  showed  how  profoundly  she  was  moved.  I  think  her 
eyes  gushed  with  tears  as  she  left  the  room,  for  she  raised 


326  HENRT   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

her  handkerchief  quickly  as  she  disappeared,  and  I  thought 
I  heard  a  sob.  I  strangle  one  in  my  own  throat  as  I  write, 
friend,  but  I  shah1  proceed. 

"  The  interview  I  have  just  described  will  serve  for  the 
two  or  three  others  which  I  held  with  her  during  this  and 
the  next  day.  There  was  the  same  mixture  of  coldness  and 
pain  in  the  eyes,  which  spoke  with  a  more  terrible  eloquence 
than  any  lips  could.  More  than  once  she  pressed  my  hand 
in  the  most  convulsive  way,  and  her  lips  opened  as  though 
she  were  about  to  speak.  Before  she  uttered  a  word,  how 
ever — when  I  was  wholly  silent,  fearful  lest  I  should  inter 
rupt  her,  did  I  speak — before  the  dumb  lips  formed  the 
least  sound,  an  expression  of  constraint  and  coldness,  almost 
of  fear,  would  diffuse  itself  over  her  countenance,  and  color 
ing  to  the  temples,  she  would  turn  away  in  silence. 

"  This  is  an  exact  description  of  the  interview  which  we 
held  about  twilight  on  the  day  after  my  arrival.  We  were 
on  the  portico  alone,  and  after  refusing  thus  to  speak,  she 
pleaded  a  headache  and  retired,  going  to  her  chamber  with 
the  faint  step  of  one  who  is  indeed  sick,  as  she  evidently 
was,  for  her  eyes  were  red,  and  her  face  so  pale  that  it  made 
my  heart  bleed  to  look  at  her. 

"  She  left  me  thus  and  I  sat  down,  and  looked  out  upon 
the  fields.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  throwing  long  shadows 
along  the  meadows,  over  the  golden  grain,  which  undulated 
in  the  evening  breeze,  and  from  the  great  oaks,  red  now  in 
the  flush  of  sunset,  a  low  dreamy  sigh  seemed  to  steal,  and 
die  away  in  the  bloody  sky.  Never  had  I  seen  a  landscape 
fuller  of  the  elements  of  beauty,  but  never  did  I  think  a 
night  so  sad.  That  sorrowful  splendor  in  the  sunshine, 
which  I  spoke  of  before,  again  attracted  ray  attention,  and 
an  oriole,  upon  the  summit  of  the  great  oak  before  the  door, 
seemed  to  sing  a  funeral  dirge. 

"Prepare  now  to  laugh,  friend — collect  your  incredulous 
philosophy.  I  am  about  to  utter  more  of  my  stupidities — I 
arn  going  to  make  you  think  me  more  than  ever  superstitious. 
I  care  not,  I  will  continue.  As  I  sat  thus  upon  the  portico, 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  327 

and  saw  the  mournful  beauty  of  the  sunset  die  away  across 
the  lands,  I  felt  again  that  same  presentiment  of  evil  which 
I  formerly  described.  It  seemed  to  me  that  again  I  was 
encircled  by  hidden  foes,  that  the  atmosphere  grew  dark  as 
though  from  a  great  midnight  cloud,  and  though  I  strug 
gled  to  resist  the  impression,  my  nerves  again  began  to  tin 
gle,  my  pulse  to  throb  unaccountably,  my  hair  moved  upon 
my  head,  and  a  shiver  ran  through  my  body.  I  seemed  to 
feel  rather  than  see  the  presence  of  something  hostile  to  me 
— something  cunning,  insidious  and  dangerous — something 
I  must  struggle  against  or  yield  to.  A  nameless  dread 
seized  upon  me,  and  all  color  forsook  my  cheek — as  before* 
I  laid  my  hand  convulsively  upon  my  sword. 

"  In  a  moment  the  feeling  disappeared,  and  I  looked 
around  to  see  if  any  one  had  observed  my  agitation.  I  saw 
no  person,  and  rising,  entered  the  house,  feeling  completely 
wretched.  You  think  this  only  another  evidence  of  dis 
ordered  nerves ;  well,  you  will  soon  see  that  I  was  ere  long 
the  victim  of  another  hallucination,  if  you  choose,  more 
strange  and  terrifying  than  this  even. 

"  I  shall  trace  the  remaining  incidents  in  regular  order. 
That  evening  she  came  down,  looking,  as  usual,  pale,  very 
pale,  and  so  sad  that  my  heart  sank  as  I  gazed  at  her.  I 
announced  my  intention  of  returning  to  Williamsburg  on 
the  next  morning,  and  as  I  did  so  I  saw  her  turn  her  head 
hastily.  It  was  in  the  direction  of  myself,  and  for  a  m(3- 
ment  our  eyes  met,  and  a  long  look  was  exchanged.  I 
never  saw  any  thing  so  sad  as  those  eyes — even  now  they 
haunt  me,  and  make  me  groan  as  I  write.  I  went  to  her 
side,  carelessly,  but  with  a  throbbing  heart ;  and  taking  a 
volume  from  the  table,  played  with  it,  and  tried  to  smile, 
saying,  with  a  wretched  affectation  of  mirth,  that  I  was  no 
longer  my  own  master  now,  and  that  the  repairs  at  Flower 
of  Hundreds  must  not  be  delayed,  under  the  circumstances. 
I  am  a  bad  actor ;  I  assume  badly,  and  I  think  that  human 
laugh  never  before  rang  out  so  harsh  and  false.  My  muscles 
refused  to  obey  me — they  rebelled — and  the  sound  that 


328  HEKET  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

should  have  been  mirthful  must  have  almost  been  tragical 
and  sinister. 

"  She  did  not  reply  with  a  word  ;  I  waited  in  vain  for  her 
to  speak,  and  after  an  hour,  during  which  she  took  part  in 
the  conversation  only  fitfully,  and  at  intervals,  in  the  same 
forced  wky,  she  glided  out  of  the  apartment,  and  did  not 
return.  My  heart  grew  cold  as  she  disappeared,  for  I  had 
determined  to  hold  a  private  interview  with  her  that  night, 
when  the  rest  of  the  family  had  retired,  and  entreat  her  to 
explain  her  demeanor  toward  me.  I  had  planned  all  this, 
down  to  the  very  words  which  I  would  utter,  the  arguments 
I  would  use,  and  I  thought  she  would  be  unable  to  resist. 
You  have  seen  how  she  defeated  this  scheme  by  simply 
retiring  without  a  word. 

"  Well,  I  curbed,  by  a  violent  effort,  all  exhibition  of  my 
disappointment  and  distress,  determining  to  have  the  inter 
view  on  the  next  morning,  in  the  library,  before  my  depart 
ure.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  either  have  this  explanation  or  go 
mad,  and  the  discovery  of  the  grounds  of  this  terrible 
change  must  come  from  her  lips  alone.  The  rest  of  the 
family,  with  the  exception  of  Helen,  did  not  seem  to  per 
ceive  any  thing  unusual.  Busy  about  other  things,  they  left 
us  to  ourselves,  and  did  not  occupy  themselves  with  the  ex 
pression  of  her  countenance.  Certainly  they  never  dreamed 
of  watching  her  face  with  that  rabid  anxiety  which  led  me 
fo  bestow  the  closest  scrutiny  upon  its  most  minute  details 
— upon  the  most  flitting  lights  and  shadows. 

"  They  must  certainly  have  observed  her  constraint  in  my 
society — that  she  was  not,  wholly,  the  same.  But  this  was 
doubtless  attributed  by  them  all,  as  you  suggested,  to  maid 
enly  modesty  and  timidity  at  her  novel  position  in  relation 
to  myself.  I  saw  that  I  should  only  be  stared  at  by  Aunt 
Mabel  or  Miss  Seraphina  if  I  declared  myself  surprised  by 
the  young  girl's  .manner.  They  would  think  me  the  most 
irrational  of  men,  even  foolish,  if  I  gave  expression  to  my 
pain — insulting,  perhaps,  if  I  spoke  of  feeling  offended. 
That  could  not  be  thought  of,  and  I  placed  all  my  hopes 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  329 

upon  the  interview  with  herself  on  the  next  morning.  I 
therefore  talked  upon  other  subjects,  and  finally  retired  to 
ray  chamber. 

"  Now  comes  the  account  of  my  final  hallucination,  if  you 
like  the  word,  friend.  I  approach  what  will  doubtless  lead 
you  to  believe  that  I  am  really  a  lunatic. 

"  I  went  to  my  chamber  at  the  hour  of  ten  about,  for  in 
the  country  they  retire  early,  and  I  remained  for  an  hour, 
perhaps,  sitting  by  the  open  window,  from  which  I  looked 
out  upon  the  moonlit  fields,  and  pondered.  All  was  hushed, 
and  no  sound  disturbed  the  silence  but  the  low  twitter  of 
the  swallows  which  have  their  nests  beneath  the  eaves,  and 
were  going  to  sleep.  The  fitful  sighing  of  the  ocean  breeze 
in  the  great  moonlit  oaks  served  as  a  sort  of  burden  to  my 
sad  thoughts,  and  silent  thus  by  the  open  window  I  reflect 
ed  long  and  painfully  upon  the  woful  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  the  feelings  of  that  one  whom  I  loved  more 
than  my  life.  I  remember  that  at  last  my  thoughts  dwelt 
upon  the  singular  warnings  I  had  received  before  I  had  the 
least  reason  to  suspect  this  change,  and  a  slight  feeling  of 
superstitious  fear  may  have  agitated  me.  I  think  that  no 
man  is  wholly  free  from  this  influence,  which  is  due  either  to 
the  stories  of  those  old  negro  nurses  who  frighten  children, 
and  instill  thus  early  the  seeds  of  superstition,  or  to  the  pe 
rusal  of  those  authors  who  make  use  of  hobgoblins  to  lend 
attraction  to  narratives  otherwise  stupid.  There  was  some 
excuse  for  this  sentiment,  too,  in  my  surroundings.  The 
chamber  which  I  occupied  was  the  '  haunted  chamber,'  that 
invariable  adjunct  of  a  Virginia  country  house.  Here,  it 
was  said,  Mrs.  Vane,  my  uncle's  mother,  had  died  in  great 
pain,  and  here,  said  the  servants,  she  often  '  walked.' 

"  I  was  not  afraid  of  the  old  gentlewoman's  spirit  at  all, 
however,  and  if  I  thought  of  her  at  all  it  was  with  a  smile 
at  my  childish  disquiet  and  foolish  superstition.  I  threw 
off  my  clothes,  tried  to  make  my  prayer  as  my  dear  mother 
taught  me  at  her  knee,  and  then,  somewhat  quieted  by  this 


330  HENKZ   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

appeal  to  a  higher  power,  extinguished  the  light  in  the  tall 
candlestick,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  slept,  but  I  suddenly  awoke 
with  the  consciousness  that  something  or  somebody  was  at 
the  side  of  my  bed.  I  distinctly  heard  a  low  and  suppressed 
breathing,  and  opening  my  eyes,  I  swear  I  saw  a  white  figure 
within  three  paces  of  me,  crouching  and  looking  toward  me, 
where  I  lay !  The  moonlight  fell  upon  the  figure,  and  I  saw 
that  it  was  only  a  long,  white  garment,  not  unlike  grave- 
clothes,  and  from  beneath  the  folds  of  this  garment  two 
burning  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me. 

"For  a  moment  I  lay  motionless,  in  that  stupor  which 
possesses  the  frame  immediately  upon  awaking,  and  I  re 
member  thinking  how  foolish  I  was  to  fancy  myself  awake, 
and  not  what  I  was,  asleep  and  dreaming.  Then  I  rose  sud 
denly  in  the  bed,  as  the  mist  was  dispelled  from  rny  mind, 
and  as  I  did  so,  the  figure  hastily  retreated. 

"  With  a  single  bound,  I  was  out  of  the  curtains,  and 
clutched  my  sword.  A  glimmer,  a  stealthy  footfall,  and  the 
figure  melted  into  the  dai'kness  and  disappeared. 

"  I  went  quickly  to  the  door,  which  had  been  left  open, 
as  the  weather  was  warm,  and  found  it  just  as  I  had  left  it, 
almost  ajar.  A  human  figure  could  scarcely  have  passed 
through  it.  I  opened  it,  and  went  out  in  the  upper  hall. 
Every  thing  was  silent.  I  stood  there  for  a  moment  with 
ray  sword  in  my  hand,  trembling,  I  think,  with  a  vague 
fear — for  you  must  confess  the  adventure  was  enough  to  af 
fect  the  nerves  of  the  boldest — and  then  I  reentered  the 
room.  Every  thing  was  just  as  I  had  left  it  upon  the  pre 
ceding  night ;  nothing  had  been  disturbed.  I  looked  at  my 
timepiece ;  it  was  half  past  two  o'clock,  and  the  moon,  by 
whose  light  I  made  the  examination,  was  just  setting. 

"  I  replaced  my  sword  upon  the  chair  by  my  bed,  and 
sitting  upon  the  side  of  the  couch,  reflected,  as  you  may 
easily  imagine,  upon  what  had  just  occurred.  Could  I  have 
been  dreaming  ?  Certainly  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  wide 
awake,  that  I  saw  the  thing  with  my  material  eyes  ;  its  eyes 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  331 

still  burned  before  me,  and  I  heard  the  stealthy  footfall. 
But  was  not  this  all  fancy  ?  Could  the  appearance  be  real  ? 
I  dismissed  at  once,  you  see,  the  thought  of  a  spirit,  though 
I  still  felt  a  superstitious  dread,  and  my  only  question  was 
the  state  I  had  been  in — sleeping  or  awake.  If  awake,  then 
some  person  had  entered  my  room  stealthily,  and  retreated 
as  noiselessly.  Who  could  it  have  been,  and  what  possible 
object  could  have  produced  this  nocturnal  walking  ?  De 
cidedly,  I  thought,  I  dreamed  the  whole  thing,  and  took 
the  result  of  my  nervous  imagination,  aroused  and  stung  by 
my  meditations  at  the  window,  for  the  veritable  presence  of 
an  intruder. 

"  I  remained  thus  lost  in  thought  for  half  an  hour,  I  sup 
pose,  and  then  I  went  and  locked  the  door,  and  returning 
to  bed,  lay  down.  After  a  while  my  thoughts  ran  into  each 
other,  I  began  to  dream,  and  then  fell  sound  asleep.  I  was 
waked  by  the  sun  shining  in  my  face,  and  rose  and  dressed. 
As  I  did  so,  I  almost  laughed  at  my  dream,  for  it  doubtless 
was  such,  as  I  do  not  believe  in  spirits,  however  superstitious 
I  may  seem  to  you.  Yet  was  it  not  strange  that  I  should 
thus  have  sprung  up,  and  caught  my  sword,  and  followed 
my  airy  visitant  ?  Think  what  you  may — laugh  at  me  if 
you  choose,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  those  burning  eyes 
were  like  the  eyes  of  the  hostile  figure  in  my  first  delirium, 
when  I  dropped  the  pen  upon  the  paper,  writing  to  you, 
and  rose  clutching  at  my  sword. 

"  Well,  let  me  finish  my  long,  sad  letter ;  I  will  proceed 
with  the  events  of  the  morning  in  turn.  Finding  that  none 
of  the  family  were  yet  stirring,  I  sat  down  at  the  table,  upon 
which  were  writing  materials,  and  wrote  you  a  note,  asking 
you  to  pay  me  a  visit  in  Williamsburg — the  note  to  await 
your  appearance  at  Vanely.  You  have  doubtless  received 
it,  and  pray  come,  my  friend.  Your  presence  will  soothe 
and  cheer  me.  Do  not  measure  my  desire  to  see  you  by 
the  brief  nature  of  the  note,  which  was  written,  as  you  may 
imagine,  under  unfavorable  circumstances.  I  must  beg  you 
to  pardon  its  style,  and  also  the  apparent  discourtesy  in  not 


332  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

sealing  the  wax  with  my  signet.  Upon  looking  on  my  fin 
ger  for  it,  I  found  it  was  gone,  left,  doubtless,  on  my  table 
here  when  I  went  to  Vanely,  though,  strange  to  say,  I  have 
not  found  it,  and  even  think  that  I  remember  having  it  on 
when  I  went  thither. 

"  To  end  my  letter  with  the  events  of  the  morning,  how 
ever.  As  I  informed  you,  I  had  announced,  on  the  previous 
evening,  my  intended  departure,  and  every  one  had  given 
me  commissions.  I  had  letters  to  friends  from  my  uncle,  a 
memorandum  from  Helen,  and  a  package  from  Aunt  Mabel 
for  Mrs.  Burwell,  through  a  window  of  whose  dwelling,  one 
night,  not  very  long  ago — but  I  am  wandering,  and,  as  it 
were,  making  a  sorrowful  soliloquy.  You  see — to  continue, 
calmly — I  had,  in  every  way,  impressed  upon  the  family,  in 
cluding  herself,  the  fact  of  my  departure  on  that  morning 
early.  I  had,  I  said,  pressing  business  ;  the  architects,  with 
their  plans,  were  waiting  ;  beyond -a  peradventure  I  must 
certainly  go — I  could  not  remain.  I  meant  her  to  under 
stand  that  I  should  not  lengthen  my  visit,  and  that  an  ex 
planation  must  take  place  upon  that  morning,  or  I  should 
continue  miserable  away  from  her,  not  near  her. 

"  After  finishing  the  note  to  you,  therefore,  I  drew  on  my 
riding  boots,  with  a  pair  of  large  spurs,  and  leaving  my 
chamber,  descended  the  stair-case.  I  thought  the  heavy 
sound  of  my  footsteps,  and  the  metallic  ring  of  the  spur 
chains,  on  the  oaken  floor,  would  attract  her  attention,  and 
bring  her  down  to  the  library,  which  I  entered.  Often  when 
I  was  going  over  to  'Flower  of  Hundreds,'  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  this  sound  had  drawn  her  from  her  chamber,  fresh,  rosy, 
and  smiling  with  happiness  and  beauty,  like  a  flower  of  the 
morning — how  I  groan,  friend  as  I  write  !  Well,  well !  I 
thought  the  desire  of  seeing  me  would  again  make  her  run 
to  me,  and  give  me  that  innocent  embrace  which  her  pure 
heart  accorded  to  me.  Alas !  she  did  not  come.  I  sat  in 
the  library,  as  yet  untenanted,  except  by  myself,  and  with 
the  '  Gazette'  open  before  me,  made  pretense  to  read,  as 
the  servant  moved  about ;  in  reality,  I  did  not  even  see  the 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  333 

letters — I  was  listening  for  her  footsteps.  If  ever  you  have 
thus  sat,  with  a  throbbing  heart,  and  waited  for  a  figure 
which  did  not  appear,  you  will  know  my  breathless  expecta 
tion,  and  my  agony.  My  agony,  for  she  did  not  come. 

"The  members  of  the  family,  one  after  another,  entered  ; 
every  one  had  a  kind  word,  a  smile,  and  a  regret  at  my  de 
parture,  while  she — she  did  not  even  come  to  look  coldly  at 
me.  I  had  not  even  the  consolation  of  her  frown.  Well,  I 
did  not  ask  why  she  delayed,  I  did  not  utter  a  word  on  the 
subject ;  somehow  the  words  stuck  in  my  throat.  I  only  con 
versed,  with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  door ;  and  when  Aunt 
Mabel  thought  I  was  listening,  with  the  deepest  attention, 
to  her  new  method  of  curing  colds,  I  was  trying  to  catch 
her  approaching  footsteps. 

"  Breakfast  was  announced,  and  every  one  sat  down. 
Then  Aunt  Mabel  asked  the  question  which  I  feared  to  pro 
pound,  *  Where  was  Bonnybel  ?'  She  was  unwell,  Helen 
said,  and  begged  Cousin  Harry  to  excuse  her  not  coming 
down  to  bid  him  good-bye. 

"  As  the  words  were  uttered,  I  think  I  must  have  turned 
pale,  and  I  sat  down  the  chocolate  which  I  was  raising  to 
my  lips.  Aunt  Mabel  diverted  attention  from  me,  however, 
by  pausing,  in  her  operations  with  the  urn,  to  say,  '  Unwell ! 
why  she  was  well  last  night.'  Helen  replied  that  she  did 
not  think  her  sister  had  been  well  for  a  week  or  two,  and 
there  the  subject  was  dropped.  Half  an  hour  afterwards  I 
was  in  the  saddle,  on  my  way  hither,  without  having  seen 
her,  and  carrying  away  with  me  no  second  message  from  her 
even. 

"And  now,  my  friend,  you  have  it  all ;  you  have,  I  think, 
the  proof,  full  and  unanswerable,  that  I  was  not  so  irrational 
in  my  presentiments  as  you  declared  me.  I  told  you,  in  my 
former  letter,  that  a  cloud  seemed  descending  on  my  life ; 
I  now  show  you  that  cloud  covering  my  whole  existence. 
I  said,  in  the  commencement  of  this  letter,  that  I  had  deter 
mined,  if  she  met  me  as  of  old,  to  consider  my  foreboding 
only  fancy,  and  thus  you  would  triumph — the  woful  tri- 


334  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

| 

umph,  as  you  see,  is  my  own.  Of  these  influences,  I  have 
no  word  more  to  say ;  they  may  return  or  disappear,  it  is 
indifferent  to  me.  It  is  nothing,  either  way,  now  when  I 
am  perfectly  wretched,  when  I  am  ruined,  broken-hearted, 
overwhelmed  by  a  fatality  which  I  can  not  oppose,  and  which 
crushes  me  in  its  inexorable  grasp.  I  no  longer  struggle,  I 
no  longer  attempt  to  understand  ;  silent,  gloomy,  and  pale, 
I  bend  under  my  fate,  and  only  reply  with  hoarse  groans. 

"  I  have  Written  with  forced  calmness.  Why  I  wrote  at 
all  I  do  not  know,  unless  it  is  from  that  mad  despair  which 
makes  the  dying  soldier  turn  the  weapon  in  his  breast. 

"  I  can  write  no  more.  I  am  faint,  and  seem  to  grow  cold. 
Well,  so  it  ends.  I  thought — 

"  I  can  write  no  more — not  even  tears  will  relieve  me. 
"  Farewell. 

"H.  ST.  JOHN." 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

HOW     MB.      ALSTON      TRAVELED     ALL      NIGHT,      AND      WHAT 
FOLLOWED. 

THE  letter  which  we  have  just  laid  before  the  reader 
reached  Mr.  Alston  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  after  it  was 
written,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  that  gentleman,  looking  very 
sad  and  gloomy,  was  on  his  way  to  Vanely. 

On  the  next  morning,  just  as  Mr.  St.  John  had  finished 
his  toilet,  he  entered  the  young  man's  chamber,  having 
traveled  all  night. 

Up  to  the  moment  when  his  foot  touched  the  threshold, 
Mr.  Alston's  face  had  worn  an  expression  of  anxiety  and 
care,  very  unusual  with  him,  but  no  sooner  had  he  entered 
the  presence  of  his  friend,  than  this  changed  to  an  appear 
ance  of  the  most  careless  humor. 

"  Well,  Harry,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  "  how  is  it  this 
morning  ?  how  are  the  nerves  ?" 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  335 

Instead  of  resenting  this  banter  or  expressing  any  sur 
prise.  Mr.  St.  John  merely  held  out  his  hand,  rising  for  that 
purpose  from  the  sofa  upon  which  he  lay,  with  drooping 
head,  and  then  having  given  this  evidence  of  welcome,  he 
sank  back  as  cold  and  silent  as  before. 

The  reception  did  not  seem  to  please  Mr.  Alston ;  he 
gazed  for  a  moment  with  an  expression  of  great  feeling  at 
the  pale,  cold  face,  tui-ned  away  from  him ;  at  the  drooping 
brows,  the  half-closed  eyes,  and  the  lips  indicating  hopeless 
despair. 

"  Come,  Harry,  my  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  rapidly  chang 
ing  his  expression,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  of  careless  good 
humor,  "  this  is  a  poor  greeting,  and  you  have  not  replied 
to  my  question." 

"Your  question,  Tom?"  asked  Mr.  St.  John,  waking  up, 
as  it  were,  and  looking  absently  at  his  friend. 

"  Yes,  my  question  !" 

"  What  was  it  ?  You  must  pardon  me,  Tom,  I  'm  not 
very  well  this  morning,  or  very  lively,  as  you  may  im 
agine." 

"  Bah  !  all  the  .imagination  is  on  your  side.  My  question 
was  in  the  words  and  figures  following,  to  wit :  '  how  are 
your  nerves  ?' " 

"  Quite  firm." 

"  Has  a  mouse  run  across  the  floor  ?" 

His  friend  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  inquiry. 

"  I  say,  has  a  mouse  squeaked  this  morning,  and  thrown 
you  into  agonies  ?" 

The  look  of  inquiry  changed  to  one  of  cold  surprise, 
which  it  seemed  Mr.  Alston  comprehended. 

He  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  understand !"  he  said,  "  you  are  ready  to  cut  my  throat 
because  I  refer  to  your  nerves.  Well,  I  believe  I  am  compe 
tent  to  form  an  opinion,  and  empowered  to  express  the  same, 
I  only  being  responsible,  under  the  circumstances,  for  the 
said  expression  of  the  said  opinion.  The  practical  applica 
tion  which  I  make,  on  the  present  occasion,  of  this  little  ob- 


336  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

servation,  is  simply  as  follows.  The  dreadful  words  have 
been  uttered  now,  and  if  my  opinions  upon  the  nervous  sys 
tem  do  not  please  monsieur,  I  am  entirely  at  his  orders,  my 
preference  being  for  the  short  sword  !" 

St.  John  sat  down  and  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand. 

"  Pardon  my  coldness  and  irritation,  Tom,"  he  said,  "  I 
can't  afford  to  lose  any  friends  now." 

"  Ah  !  you  come  to  reason,  do  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  would  keep  the  few  hearts  I  retain.  You  see 
I  'm  a  poor  miserable  devil  that  do  n't  dare  to  quarrel — I  'm 
too  wretched  for  that." 

"  Wretched  folly  it  indeed  is,  Harry  my  boy,  to  say  that 
you  are  wretched — or  rather,  to  proceed  logically,  to  say 
that  you  have  any  reason  to  be  wretched." 

"  Have  you  received  my  last  letter  ?"  said  St.  John,  sap- 
pressing  a  groan. 

"Yes,  I  have." 

"And  you  laugh  still?" 

"  Most  heartily." 

"  It  is  at  my  distress,  then." 

"  No ;  at  your  philosophy." 

"Of  what?'' 

"  Why,  of  spirits." 

St.  John  made  a  movement  with  his  head,  signifying 
plainly,  "You  are  at  liberty  to  laugh." 

"  I  understand  very  well,"  said  his  friend  ;  "  you  mean  by 
that  lordly  nod  to  grant  me  permission  to  think  as  I  may. 
Well,  my  dear  friend,  I  cheerfully  avail  myself  of  your  per 
mission,  and  consider  that  you  ought  to  have  a  nurse  to  put 
you  in  bed,  and  to  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  you." 

St.  JoKn  was  silent.  What  he  had  said  in  his  letter  was 
true.  He  no  longer  cared  to  discuss  the  strange  presenti 
ments,  and  the  dream,  if  it  were  a  dream.  In  his  agony  all 
other  things  were  swallowed  up,  and  after  the  momentary 
outbreak  he  felt  no  anger  even  at  the  rough  address  of  his 
friend. 

This,  however,  seemed  to  be  just  what  Mr.  Alston  desired 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  337 

to  excite — he  wished  to  arouse  the  young  man.  "When  his 
taunts  were  received  with  indifference  he  seemed  disap 
pointed. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  returning  to  the  attack,  "  confess,  my 
dear  Harry,  that  you  are  a  baby." 

"  If  you  choose,  I  will." 

"  A  child  frightened  by  a  buggaboo." 

"I  have  no  objection." 

"  Really,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  with  a  compassionate  air,  "  you 
do  seem  to  me  a  mere  girl ;  put  the  cover  over  its  head  and 
stop  whimpering,  and  go  to  sleep — mammy's  sitting  by  its 
bed  !" 

St.  John  made  no  reply. 

"  Would  you  have  a  little  pap,  mother's  darling  ?"  inquired 
Mr.  Alston. 

"  No,  I  thank  you." 

"  A  sugar  rag 's  convenient." 

Mr.  St.  John  nodded  his  head. 

"  Mammy  won't  let  bogy  frighten  mother's  darling — ugly 
bogy,  coming  here  to  scare  his  mother's  own  sweet  ducky 
dear." 

Mr.  St.  John  had  even  ceased  to  hear  the  voice  of  his 
friend ;  stretched  upon  a  lounge,  he  was  thinking,  with  far 
away  eyes  set  in  a  face  as  pale  as  death. 

"  Harry  St.  John,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  suddenly  dropping 
his  tone  of  banter,  "  do  you  wish  to  hear  my  real  opinion  of 
you  ?" 

Mr.  St.  John  turned  toward  his  friend,  looked  at  him  for 
a  moment,  intently,  and  said : 

"  I  will  listen." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  austerely,  "  I  consider  you 
an  idiot." 

And  Mr.  Alston  raised  his  head  with  a  haughty  air,  and 
placed  his  hand  upon  the  hilt  of  his  sword. 

Mr.  St.  John  only  looked  at  him  more  attentively. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Alston,  coldly,  "  I  understand  your 
gaze  very  well ;  you  think  to  intimidate  me.  But  you  will 

15 


338  HENKY    ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

not,  sir !  no,  sir !  I  am  not  to  be  bullied  !  I  say  again,  sir, 
and  I  will  repeat  it  a  third  time,  if  necessary,  that  my  real 
opinion  of  you  is  that  you  are  an  idiot — a  fool.  There, 
sir !  I  am  ready  to  take  the  responsibility  of  that  declara 
tion." 

St.  John  scarcely  raised  his  head,  and  for  a  moment  did 
not  speak. 

"Miserable  coward!"  said  Mr.  Alston,  sotto  voce,  and 
frowning. 

A  long  silence  followed — it  was  broken  by  Mr.  St.  John. 
He  rose  wearily  from  the  sofa,  passed  his  hand  over  his  fore 
head  and  said, 

"  You  're  a  good  friend,  Tom.  I  can  not,  however,  say  as 
much  for  your  acting.  You  are  quite  transparent.  I  see 
plainly  what  brings  you,  and  I  know  very  well  what  you 
intend  by  your  affected  taunts  and  insults.  You  overdo  it ; 
but  even  were  it  acted  with  a  reality  which  persuaded  me 
of  the  sincerity  of  your  desire  to  offend  me,  I  doubt  if  I 
should  resent  your  words.  You  wish  to  arouse  me  by  your 
stage-play,  but  I  am  too  dreary  and  despairing.  All 's  over 
for  me ;  I  yield.  I  do  not  even  hear  your  insults  distinctly, 
for  my  mind  is  paralyzed." 

And  Mr.  St.  John  sank  back  again,  and  was  silent. 

An  expression  of  real  pain  diffused  itself  over  Mr.  Alston's 
countenance,  and  gazing  at  his  friend,  he  said, 

"  Harry,  you  afflict  me  to  the  heart." 

"  I  am  sorry." 

"  And  I  groan !  How  can  you  yield  to  this  infatua 
tion  ?'» 

"Infatuation?" 

"  Yes,  't  is  nothing  more." 

St.  John  looked  at  his  friend. 

"  Do  you  think  me  infatuated  after  going  and  seeing  for 
yourself?"  he  said. 

"  Seeing  for  myself?"  asked  Mr.  Alston. 

"Yes ;  are  there  many  of  those  jessamines  left  under  the 
window  ?" 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  339 

And  Mr.  St.  John  pointed  to  a  flower  in  Mr.  Alston's  but 
ton  hole,  plucked  at  Vanely  as  he  departed. 

"  That  reminds  me  of  a  little  flower  I  pulled  one  day  at 
Jamestown  island,"  added  the  young  man,  "  a  long,  long 
time  ago." 

And  he  was  silent. 

Mr.  Alston  looked  at  his  friend  with  the  same  expression 
of  pain,  and  said, 

"  I  see  you  have  divined  my  movements.  Well,  I  have 
been  to  Vanely." 

"And  traveled  all  night  to  come  and  comfort  a  poor 
devil,  your  friend.  Thanks,  Tom." 

"  You  have  hit  it.     I  come  to  comfort  you." 

Mr.  St.  John  shook  his  head. 

"  You  wish  to  make  me  think  you  have  something  to  tell 
me  which  will  raise  my  spirits.  But 't  is  impossible.  All 's 
at  an  end." 

And  Mr.  St.  John  sank  back  again,  silent  and  despair 
ing. 

Mr.  Alston  seemed  touched  to  the  very  depths  of  his  na 
ture  by  this  agony  of  his  friend;  it  almost  silenced  him, 
for  he  scarcely  hoped  to  make  any  impression  upon  one  so 
resolute  in  his  despair.  He  nevertheless  collected  all  his 
strength,  and  commenced  the  assault. 

We  shall  not  repeat  the  conversation,  for  it  consisted  only 
of  a  description,  in  all  their  details  and  ramifications,  of  the 
events  which  have  been  described  in  Mr.  St.  John's  letters. 
From  these  letters,  with  the  reply  of  Mr.  Alston,  the  reader 
will  gather  exactly  what  the  present  interview  concerned 
itself  with.  On  one  side,  arguments  against  imaginary  in 
fluences,  presentiments  and  superstitions ;  on  the  other,  either 
silence  or  indifferent  replies.  Then  came  the  question  of 
the  young  girl's  change ;  and  here,  too,  Mr.  Alston  dwelt 
upon  the  same  views  which  he  had  expressed  in  his  letter — 
maidenly  modesty  and  indisposition.  Mr.  St.  John  only 
shook  his  head,  making  no  reply. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Harry !"  said  his  friend,  "  do  n't  meet 


340  HENKY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

my  arguments  with  that  eternal  gesture  of  simple  dissent. 
Really  you  are  not  open  to  conviction,  for  here,  after  two 
hours'  discussion,  you  seem  absolutely  more  than  ever  deter 
mined  to  despair ;  you  hug  your  wretchedness  and  resist 
every  attempt  I  make  to  remove  it." 

"  It  hugs  me,"  said  St.  John,  groaning. 

"  Because  you  invite  it  to  do  so.     Look  away  from  it." 

"  I  can  not." 

"  Have  I  then  been  merely  wasting  my  time  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  so,  Tom,  alas !  I  hear  your  heart  rather 
than  your  head  speak  to  me.  You  wish  to  cheer  me,  but 
you  have  nothing  to  offer  me.  For  what  is  the  sum  of 
your  argument  ?  You  tell  me  that  you  have  been  to  Vane- 
ly,  that  you  have  adroitly  sounded  the  whole  family,  and 
you  tell  me  their  replies  to  your  questions.  My  uncle,  you 
say,  iu  reply  to  one  of  your  allusions  to  me,  expressed  him 
self  well  pleased  that  I  was  to  become  his  son ;  Aunt  Ma 
bel  loved  me  in  spite  of  my  faults;  Miss  Seraphina,  like 
uncle  and  aunt,  saw  nothing,  and  looked  forward  to  the 
wedding.  Helen  alone  saw  the  cloud,  but  was  guarded  in 
her  speech,  and  mentioned  indisposition  as  the  cause  of  her 
change ;  lastly,  she  herself  being  flatly  and  earnestly  inter 
rogated,  replied  with what  ?  '  I  am  very  sorry  that 

my  manner  has  wounded  Cousin  Henry's  feelings ;  I  have 
not  been  well  lately,  Mr.  Alston.'  There,  Tom,  that  is  but 
the  old  story.  You  have  iu  vain  attempted  to  lift  the  bur 
den  of  despair  weighing  me  down.  I  thank  you,  I  recog 
nize  your  friendship ;  it  is  a  gloomy  pleasure  to  me,  but  I 
remain  unchanged— all 's  over." 

And  St.  John  covered  his  face,  and  uttered  a  moan  which 
made  honest  Tom  Alston  turn  away  his  head  and  remain 
for  some  time  silent. 

After  a  while  Mr.  Alston  returned  again  to  the  subject ; 
but  this  time,  with  less  vehemence,  and  a  more  quiet  earn 
estness.  His  object  now  was  to  persuade  his  friend  to  re 
turn. 

St.  John  shook  his  head. 


HENKY  ST.   JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  341 

"  Why  should  I  ?"  he  said ;  "  it  will  only  make  two  per 
sons  more  miserable  still." 

"  And  you  thus  relinquish,  without  a  struggle,  the  happi 
ness  of  your  whole  life  ?" 

"  I  must !"  said  St.  John,  with  a  cruel  groan. 

"  You  must  not,  Harry !"  said  Tom  Alston,  almost  groan 
ing  too ;  "  I  tell  you,  you  must  not !  As  your  friend,  as  your 
companion  and  playmate  in  childhood  and  youth,  and  your 
friend  now  in  manhood,  I  beseech  you  to  consider  this !  By 
returning  no  more,  you  at  once  break  off  all  connection  with 
those  who  love  you  and  whom  you  love !  By  going  thither 
no  more,  you  end  for  ever  all  affection  which  they  have  for 
you.  At  present  no  one  but  Helen  observes  any  thing 
strange ;  your  uncle  and  aunt  will  resent  your  action,  and 
banish  you  from  their  hearts.  I  beseech  you  to  think  what 
you  are  doing,  and  not  wreck  the  whole  happiness  of  your 
future  life  on  a  chimerical  fancy,  which  may  be  a  mere 
dream !" 

At  the  end  of  an  hour,  during  which  Tom  Alston  thus 
dwelt  upon  the  effects  of  such  a  proceeding  as  his  friend  had 
decided  on,  with  the  greatest  earnestness — at  the  end  of  this 
long  and  elaborate  expostulation,  St.  John,  weak  and  unde 
cided,  promised  to  think  of  the  matter.  Tom  Alston  pushed 
his  advantage,  and  ere  long  forced  from  his  friend  a  promise 
that  he  would  make  a  final  attempt  to  penetrate  the  mystery. 

"  Yes,  you  have  overcome  me,"  said  the  young  man,  ris 
ing,  with  a  slight  color  in  his  pale  cheek;  "  I  Will  go  again, 
and  I  will  take  this  with  me." 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  from  the  breast  pocket  of  his  doub 
let  a  folded  paper,  on  the  face  of  which  a  slash  or  cut  run 
ning  through  the  direction,  "  Henry  St.  John,  Esquire,"  was 
plainly  visible. 

"  Yes,  Tom,"  said  the  young  man,  suppressing  a  weary 
sigh,  "  I  will  follow  your  advice,  -and  make  a  last  attempt. 
Look  at  this  letter,  it  is  one  which  she  wrote  me  some  days 
before  my  duel  with  Lindon,  and  it  turned  his  sword  point. 
I  will  go  to  her  and  say,  *  It  was  a  loyal  heart  which  your 


342  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

letter  saved  from  being  pierced  and  torn  asunder ;  the  heart 
which  it  now  covers  is  as  loyal.  If  an  enemy  has  spoken 
against  me,  tell  me  what  he  has  said,  and  I  will  answer  it ; 
and  not  punish  him  if  you  wish  it.'  I  will  go  and  say  that 
and  beseech  her  to  not  leave  me  in  despair.  You  are  right, 
Tom,  propriety  at  least  requires  that  from  me." 

And  the  young  man  finished  with  an  expression  of  ming 
led  despair  and  disdain  which  was  painful  to  behold. 

Mr.  Alston  was,  however,  too  much  pleased  with  the  de 
termination  of  his  friend  to  feel  longer  pained.  He  replied, 
with  a  cheerful  look, 

"  Be  easy,  Harry.  All  will  come  out  right ;  you  have  de 
termined  most  manfully.  I  confess  there  is  much  to  afflict 
any  one  in  this  matter,  but  you  have  only  to  oppose  your 
self  to  the  obstacle  like  a  valorous  chevalier,  and  all  will  be 
well.  You  say  this  little  flower  in  my  button-hole  reminds 
you  of  that  one  you  plucked  when  you  were  wounded,  as 
you  told  me  at  Flower  of  Hundreds.  Well,  take  this  flower, 
and  add  to  your  former  address,  '  When  I  was  wounded 
and  bleeding,  fainting  and  unable  to  stand  up,  one  day,  I 
thought  of  you  more  than  my  wound,  and  plucked  a  flow 
er  such  as  you  had  plucked  on  the  very  same  spot,  and 
even  when  I  lost  my  senses  clung  to  it,  and  thought  of 
you.'  Add  that  to  your  speech,  Harry,  and  if  you  do 
not  move  hei*,  and  make  her  return  to  her  old  affection, 
then  I  will  really  sympathise  with  you,  for  I  shall  have 
reason." 

Having  thus  terminated  the  discussion,  and  extracting 
from  his  friend  a  promise  that,  within  three  days  at  farthest, 
he  would  carry  out  his  design  of  visiting  Vanely,  Mr.  Tom 
Alston  declared  himself  extremely  hungry,  and  the  friends 
proceeded  to  the  Raleigh  and  breakfasted.  St.  John  scarcely 
touched  his  food,  and  had  never  changed  his  expression  of 
cold  despair. 

An  hour  afterwards  he  bade  his  friend  good-bye,  and  they 
separated — Mr.  Alston  to  return  to  Moorefield,  where  he 
was  to  receive  a  letter  from  his  friend ;  Mr.  St.  John  to  seek 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  343 

his  lounge,  where  he  now  spent  hour  after  hour  steeped  in 
gloomy  reverie. 

His  friend's  visit  had  been  like  a  ripple  on  the  surface  of 
a  dark  tarn — the  waters  again  closed  over  its  gloomy  depths, 
silent  and  motionless. 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 
A  BROKEN  HEART:   HENRY  ST.  JOHN  TO  THOMAS  ALSTON. 

"  I  HAVE  followed  your  advice,  and  made  the  journey 
which  you  suggested,  carrying  with  me  the  letter,  and  in 
tending  to  add  what  you  advised  me  to  add  to  my  address. 

"  I  write  because  I  promised  to  write,  though  the  ink 
is  somewhat  faded.  Strange  !  that  the  merchants  of  Wil- 
liamsburg  will  not  provide  the  gentlemen  of  the  colony,  who 
deal  with  them,  something  better  than  this  pale,  watery 
fluid,  which  can  hardly  be  seen  !  I  shall  purchase  no  more 
of  it,  depending  for  the  future  upon  London. 

"  I  feel  somewhat  badly  this  morning,  which  I  suppose  is 
attributable  to  the  fact  that  I  traveled  all  night,  as  a  friend 
of  mine  did  a  long  time  ago,  when  he  came  in  early  one 
morning.  Why,  what  am  I  writing  ?  It  was  yourself — 
was  it  not  ?  My  head  is  a  little  disordered  this  morning, 
and  my  memory  is  bad.  As  I  said,  I  traveled  all  last  night. 

"  What  have  I  written  ?  Is  my  mind  failing  ?  Why,  I 
am  writing  to  Tom  Alston  !  We  talked  of  this — assuredly 
we  did !  I  told  you  of  this  visit  to  Colonel  Vane's,  in  Prince 
George — did  I  not  ?  I  told  you  I  was  going  to  see — her. 
I  told  you  I  would  write,  or  I  dream ! 

"  I  have  this  moment  returned.  Oh,  Tom !  it  all  flashes 
on  me  now  ;  I  have  my  senses  again,  which  were  stunned. 
I  went  and  she  would  not  see  me  ;  she  refused  to  meet  me. 
I  am  broken-hearted  !  My  head  pains  me — something  trou 
bles  me ;  is  the  weather  turning  cold  again  ?  Strange,  at 
this  season !  H.  ST.  JOHN." 


344  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER  LXIV. 

HENET    ST.    JOHN,    ESQUIRE,   TO     MISS   BONNYBEL   VANE,    AT 
VANELY,   IN   PRINCE   GEORGE. 

"  Is  it  wrong  for  me  to  write  to  you  ?  "We  were  cousins 
once,  with  some  affection  for  each  other — I  at  least  for  you. 
I  do  not  add  that  we  have  ever  been  any  thing  more,  for 
that  would  doubtless  wound  and  offend  you.  I  would  not 
wound  or  offend  you ;  I  am  too  unhappy  to  think  of  re 
proaches.  Once  I  might  have  given  way  to  my  passionate 
temperament,  and  uttered  wild  words;  now  I  have  no 
such  words  to  utter.  I  acquiesce  in  all  you  do  and  say, 
and  scarcely  dare  to  write  these  lines — to  ray  cousin,  as  it 
were. 

"  My  memory  has  been  impaired  of  late,  but  I  think  we 
were  playmates  in  our  youth,  were  we  not  ?  Are  not  you  the 
Bonnybel  of  my  childhood  ?  She  was  very  lovely,  and  had 
the  kindest  and  tenderest  heart,  and  a  face  full  of  the  most 
delicate  loveliness.  I  have  been  thinking  about  her,  and  you 
must  not  think  me  unmanly  because  the  tears  come  to  my 
eyes.  I  do  not  think  any  one  ever  loved  Bonnybel  as  I  did. 
She  seemed  to  me  like  an  angel,  holding  out  her  pure  white 
hands  and  blessing  me.  I  used  to  weave  flowers  for  her, 
and  once  she  showed  me  the  wreath,  a  long  time  afterwards 
— she  had  kept  it  for  my  sake,  she  said. 

"  I  believe  I  am  wandering  from  what  I  intended  to  write. 
I  have  been  sick,  but  am  very  well  to-day.  My  friend,  Tom 
Alston,  has  been  to  see  me  in  my  sickness,  and  he  has  taken 
up  the  strangest  idea,  he  thinks  that  we  have  quarreled — 
you  and  myself.  Could  any  thing  be  more  absurd  ?  Ordi 
nary  persons  quarrel  and  fall  out,  but  the  very  idea  of  Bon 
nybel  and  Harry  being  any  thing  but  friends !  I  told  him 
that  it  was  absolutely  silly,  and  the  grounds  of  his  opinion 
are  the  silliest  part  of  it.  He  thinks,  because  you  were  un 
well  the  other  day,  when  I  was  at  Vanely,  and  did  not  come 


HENEY   ST.  JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  345 

down,  that  for  this  reason  you  do  not  like  me.  I  wrote  him 
word,  on  my  return  that  night,  or  rather  early  in  .the  morn 
ing,  for  I  preferred  traveling  in  the  night,  as  the  weather 
was  warm — I  wrote  him  word  about  the  visit,  and  said  I 
had  not  seen  you,  because  you  were  sick.  My  letter  had 
scarcely  reached  Moorefield,  I  thought,  when  he  broke  into 
my  chamber  here  in  the  strangest  manner,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  crying,  most  singularly,  '  O,  Harry !  Harry !'  and  sit 
ting  down  with  his  hands  over  his  face.  He  then  came  and 
put  his  arm  around  me  and  asked  me  how  I  felt,  as  though 
I  had  been  sick.  I  was  not  at  all  sick  then,  but  became  un 
well  that  evening,  strange  to  say ;  I  believe  it  was  on  ac 
count  of  his  visit.  He  persuaded  me  that  I  must  be  sick,  or 
I  never  would  have  written  him  such  a  letter,  when  my  let 
ter  was  the  simplest  in  the  world,  and  just  such  as  I  gener 
ally  write  to  him.  A  physician  came  to  see  me,  and  he  and 
Tom  went  out  just  now  together.  I  have  risen  from  the 
sofa,  to  write  to  you. 

"  I  believe  I  am  not  quite  well  this  morning,  and  I  have 
a  strange  feeling,  as  if  we  had  quarreled.  Write  to  me, 
darling,  and  tell  me  that  you  still  love  me.  My  whole  heart 
is  wrapped  up  in  you,  and  I  can  not  breathe  without  your 
love.  How  kind  and  good  in  the  merciful  Creator  to  give 
me  your  love.  I  have  been  very  ungrateful  not  to  thank 
him,  and  obey  his  commands,  but  I  will  try  in  future  to  be 
better.  I  expect  much  from  your  love,  I  think  it  will  make 
me  purer  and  better.  I  do  not  love  you  only  because  your 
face  is  beautiful,  but  because  you  are  pure  and  good.  When 
we  are  married,  I  shall  be  far  better,  and  you  will  have  made 
me  so. 

"  They  spoke  of  something  which  had  come  between  us. 
Is  it  not  strange  ?  Why,  what  could  ever  separate  us  ? 
There  was  a  strange  man  who  hinted  at  something  of  this 
sort,  I  remember,  but  how  foolish, 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  for  some  days  now,  but  I  will  come 
soon.  I  am  a  little  unwell  to-day,  but  I  am  happy,  thinking 
of  you. 

15* 


346  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

"  There 's  Torn  Alston's  step  upon  the  stairs,  and  he  must 
not  see  me  writing  to  you  ;  I  can  not  write  to  you  in  com 
pany,  as  I  can  not  speak  to  you  when  others  are  present. 
We  must  be  alone,  darling,  to  address  each  other  as  we 
wish.  I  can  not  call  you  by  your  name  in  society,  and  I 
can  not  even  write  it  when  another 's  present. 

"  They  are  near  the  door  now,  Tom  and  his  friend,  and  I 
must  close  my  letter,  which  my  servant  shall  carry  to  the 
post  office  when  they  are  gone. 

"  Write  to  me  very  soon,  my  own  Bonnybel,  and  a  good 
long  letter,  such  as  you  used  to  send  me  over  to  '  Flower  of 
Hundreds,'  when  I  was  detained. 

"  Good  bye. 

"Your  faithful 

"HENRY  ST.  JOHN." 

"  P.  S. — Tom  and  his  friend  have  just  gone  out,  and  I  am 
glad  I  hid  my  letter  from  their  eyes.  They  affect  to  think 
that  I  am  sick,  and  even  say  that  writing  and  reading  will 
be  injurious.  How  strange  it  is  that  intelligent  men  like 
Tom  and  the  doctor,  do  not  understand  that  I  am  merely  a 
little  fatigued  and  indisposed  from  want  of  rest  and  working 
at  the  plans  for  *  Flower  of  Hundreds.'  I  have  devised  a 
very  pretty  wing,  I  think,  such  as  you  said  you  liked  when 
we  looked  at  the  old  house  from  the  hill  in  front.  You  did 
not  know  that  you  were  describing  your  preference  to  a 
company  of  invisible  architects.  The  addition  will  contain 
a  sitting-room  for  you,  a  smaller  library,  looking  out  upon 
the  lawn,  and  two  guest  chambers.  I  am  sure  you  will  like 
it,  and  you  know  I  only  live  to  please  you.  Farewell." 


HEKEY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  347 

CHAPTEK  LXV. 

"  HOW   STEANGE  !      I  KNEW   A  BONNYBEL  ONCE  !" 

THREE  days  after  this  letter  was  dispatched,  Mr.  Alston, 
who  was  now  permanently  residing  at  the  Raleigh  tavern, 
entered  his  friend's  chamber,  after  breakfast,  and  found  him 
holding  in  his  hand  a  paper  which  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
as  though  riveted  to  it  by  iron  chains. 

The  sound  of  his  footsteps  did  not  arouse  Mr.  St.  John, 
who  continued  to  gaze  at  the  paper. 

Mr.  Alston  approached,  and,  without  ceremony,  looked 
over  the  young  man's  shoulder. 

As  his  eyes  ran  over  the  letter,  all  color  forsook  his  cheek, 
a  sort  of  tremor  passed  through  his  frame,  and  leaning  one 
hand  on  the  back  of  the  carved  chair,  he  remained  silent 
and  motionless, 

The  letter  was  hi  the  following  words : 

"  VANELT,  Thursday. 

"  I  have  received  your  strange  letter,  hi  which  you  speak 
of  our  union,  and  your  plans  in  making  additions  to  you  res 
idence,  suggested,  you  say,  by  myself.  It  was  not  my  in 
tention  to  make  such  suggestions,  and  I  hope  the  addition 
will  be  stopped.  At  least  I  do  not  wish  you  to  indulge  the 
hope  that  I  shall  ever  become  its  inmate. 

"  It  pains  me  to  refer  to  what  was,  I  hoped,  forgotten — 
that  is,  our  engagement.  What  has  occurred  since  that 
time  makes  such  engagement  null,,  and  it  is  no  longer  bind 
ing  upon  either  of  us. 

"  Your  strange  letter  will,  I  hope,  be  the  last  on  this  sub 
ject.  I  am  entirely  resolved. 

"B.  V." 

It  was  this  letter  which  Mr.  St.  John  was  gazing  at  with 
wide  eyes.  His  friend  took  it  out  of  his  hand  and  placed  it 
in  his  own  pocket.  Mr.  St.  John  did  not  move. 


348  HENKT  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

Mr.  Alston  went  and  sat  down  at  some  distance,  and  with 
eyes  hollow  and  red  from  want  of  rest,  watched  the  young 
man,  the  very  sight  of  whose  figure  seemed  to  send  a  pang 
through  his  honest  heart. 

St.  John  remained  for  nearly  an  hour  perfectly  motionless, 
his  shoulders  drooping,  his  head  bent  down,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  floor,  across  which  a  long  bar  of  sunshine  ran  like 
a  stream  of  gold. 

"It  was  a  glorious  sail  we  had  upon  the  river,"  he  at 
length  murmured  with  a  smile.  "  What  a  day  it  was !" 

Mr.  Alston  half  rose,  but  fell  back  in  his  seat. 

"The  sky  was  so  blue,  and  the  sun  shone  so  brightly!" 
continued  St.  John,  laughing.  "Even  now  I  remember 
how  the  foam  danced  along,  far  whiter  than  the  wings  of 
the  sea  birds  who  hovered  over  us !  What  a  happy  time ! 
They  may  talk  of  the  great  wide  ocean,  but  there 's  nothing 
like  our  stately  river — nothing !  It  runs  from  the  moun 
tains  of  Virginia  to  the  east,  and  Virginia  is  the  fairest  of 
all  lands,  is  it  not  ?  How  the  foam  danced  before  us,  and 
the  winds  were  blowing !  The  air  was  perfumed  by  the 
forest  as  we  sailed !" 

"  Harry !  Harry !"  murmured  Tom  Alston,  in  a  stifled 
voice. 

"  Ah !  are  you  there,  friend  ?"  said  the  young  man,  turn 
ing  gayly,  "  are  you  there,  good  mine  host  of  the  Raleigh 
tavern  ?  'T  is  a  fine  tavern,  and  a  stranger  told  me  they 
were  making  history  there — ah !  is  it  so  ?  But  we  '11  not 
mind  them.  Bring  me  some  sherry,  host — or  stay !  let  it 
be  Canary.  'Tis  a  gentleman's  wine,  and  I  am  a  gentleman 
— though  a  poor  one  :  very,  very  poor !" 

And  the  head  sank. 

"  Are  we  in  the  capitol  ?"  he  murmured,  smiling  as  be 
fore.  "  I  am  a  stranger,  but  it  seems  that  I  have  been  here 
once  before !  One  night,  when  the  violins  played,  and  I 
danced  a  minuet  with  some  one — who  could  she  have  been  ?" 

And  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  tries  to  recall  something, 
Mi\  St.  John  touched  his  forehead  and  was  silent. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  349 

"  Well,  well,  well !"  he  murmured  at  length,  in  a  low, 
measured  voice,  "  I  can  not  remember — it  was  very  long  ago. 
How  long,  good  host  ?  A  decade  ?  Well,  well,  well — 
't  was  a  merry  time,  I  think.  What  a  noble  gift  is  memory !" 

And  with  the  same  musing  smile,  both  sad  and  joyous, 
the  young  man  raised  his  head.  The  colored  drawing  on 
the  opposite  wall  attracted  his  attention — the  drawing  pur 
chased  for  its  chance  likeness  to  Bonnybel — that  which  he 
had  selected  on  the  night  of  the  assembly,  with  the  words 
"  The  fallen  salutes  his  victor." 

"  Ah  !"  he  murmured,  "  who  is  that,  mine  host  ?  Is  the 
wine  coming  ?  Who  is  that — a  fair  face,  I  think  !" 

"  He  does  not  even  recognize  Bonnybel !"  muttered  Tom 
Alston,  covering  his  face,  with  a  sob. 

Only  the  last  word  caught  the  young  man's  wandering 
attention. 

"  Bonnybel!"  he  murmured,  "did  you  say  Bonnybel  was 
her  name  ?  How  strange  !  I  knew  a  Bonnybel  once :  she 
was  very  beautiful  and  tender.  Eyes  bright  and  of  the  ten- 
derest  violet ;  hair  a  soft  brown,  and  the  very  same  lips — the 
same,  as  I  live !  But  no,  no,  no  !  that  picture  is  not  like  her. 
She  was  truer  looking  than  that  portrait — answer  me  not, 
sir !  Who  says  she  was  false  ?  Do  you  wear  a  sword  ?  I 
who  stand  here  am  Henry  St.  John,  of  Prince  George,  in 
Virginia !" 

And  an  expression  of  haughty  anger  drove  all  smiles  from 
the  wan  face. 

"  Oh,  me  !  oh,  me !"  was  ah1  Tom  Alston  could  repeat,  in 
a  voice  stifled  with  emotion. 

St.  John  continued  for  some  moments  gazing  wildly  at 
the  picture,  and,  as  he  gazed,  a  shudder  ran  through  his 
frame,  his  eyes  expanded  with  a  sort  of  dread,  and,  rising 
violently  from  his  seat,  he  drew  his  sword,  shouting  : 

"  Who  are  you  that  stand  beside  the  picture  of  my  love 
and  darken  it  ?  Away !  I  have  seen  you  before,  with 
your  burning  eyes,  and  I  defy  you  !  I  will  meet  you  breast 
to  breast ! — back !" 


350  HENKY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

And  with  a  fiery  flash  from  his  haughty  eyes,  the  young 
man  cut  at  the  air  with  his  sword. 

Tom  Alston  ran  to  him,  and,  sobbing  like  a  child,  put  his 
arms  round  him,  and  with  gentle  force  compelled  him  to  sit 
down  again. 

"  Oh,  Harry  !  Harry  !  my  poor,  poor  Harry  !"  he  sobbed, 
"  't  is  only  your  fancy :  there  is  no  one  in  the  room.  Oh, 
Heaven  !  that  it  should  come  to  this  !" 

St.  John  looked  with  a  dreamy,  absent  air  into  the  face 
of  his  friend,  and  then  turned  away. 

His  momentary  excitement  soon  disappeared,  and,  reclin 
ing  now  against  the  tall,  carved  back  of  his  chair,  his  shoul 
ders  drooped,  and  he  traced  figures  idly  with  the  point  ot 
his  scabbard  on  the  floor. 

As  he  did  so,  his  excitement  seemed  completely  dissi 
pated,  and,  with  a  smile,  he  murmured  to  himself: 

"  Yes,  yes  !  she  is  very  beautiful  and  faithful !  Who  says 
she 's  not  ? — poor  creature,  unworthy  of  ray  steel !  Is  that 
a  flower  you  hold  in  your  hand  ?  I  have  seen  that  rose  be 
fore — it  is  white.  Were  there  not  red  roses  too  ?  Did  you 
tell  me  that  you  loved  me  ?  Oh,  how  dearly  I  love  you! 
Is  your  name  Bonnybel  ?  I  knew  one  once  like  you — she 
was  very  good  and  beautiful — but  she  died,  and  flowers  are 
growing  from  her  bosom.  Do  I  dream  ?  Oh,  me !  Is  she 
dead,  then — my  own  girl?  Is  she  dead,  then — my  own 
faithful  girl?  Oh,  no!  I  should  not  be  alive  to  ask  you! 
— that  was  another  !  You  are  my  own  dear  Bonnybel,  are 
you  not  ?  You  hold  the  flower  in  your  hand,  and  smile. 
You  have  the  dearest  eyes,  and  your  hair  is  gold  in  the  sun 
light.  Do  you  love  me  ?  I  shall  die  if  you  do  not  love 
me !  There  is  the  moon !  —  take  care  or  your  horse  will 
stumble ! — Oh,  to  die  now  since  I  have  pressed  your  lips, 
with  your  head  on  my  bosom,  with  that  light  in  your  eyes  ! 
— my  own  faithful,  noble  girl !" 

And  with  an  expression  of  the  most  radiant  happiness, 
the  young  man  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  image  of  his  memory, 
and  remained  thus,  lost  in  his  reverie  of  joy  and  delight. 


HENTRY  ST.   JOHN,    GENTT/KAfAK  351 

At  five  paces  from  him,  his  friend  followed  every  move 
ment,  caught  every  murmur.  With  a  heaving  bosom,  and 
with  eyes  wet  with  tears,  honest  Tom  Alston,  whom  the 
world  called  fop  and  derided,  watched,  wofully,  the  prog 
ress  of  the  delirium. 

At  last  he  breathed  more  freely,  his  eyes  turned  eagerly 
toward  the  door.  He  heard  the  step  of -the  old  physician 
slowly  ascending,  and  he  soon  entered. 

A  single  glance  at  Mr.  St.  John  told  him  all :  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  He  has  a  brain  fever,"  said  the  old  doctor,  "  produced 
by  mental  excitement,  exposure  to  the  sun,  after  sickness, 
perhaps,  and  loss  of  rest ;  of  course  chiefly  by  the  former. 
The  sooner  he  is  in  bed  the  better,  Mr.  Alston.  Ring  for  a 
servant,  and  give  orders  that  no  person  whatever  be  ad 
mitted." 

A  powerful  opiate  was  administered  to  the  young  man, 
and  he  slept  for  some  hours. 

When  he  awoke,  it  was  to  toss  and  rave,  deliriously, 
from  a  violent  brain  fever,  as  the  old  physician  had  pre 
dicted. 


CHAPTER   L£VI. 

THE     LAST      HALLUCINATION      OF      ST.      JOHN. 

FOK  more  than  two  weeks,  Mr.  St.  John  remained  thus 
prostrated  in  body  and  mind,  by  the  burning  delirium 
which  had  seized  upon  him. 

The  strong  nature  had  been  too  heavily  taxed — the  vig 
orous  mind  had  succumbed  beneath  the  vast  pressure  of 
the  weight  of  grief  and  agony — completely  prostrated  now, 
the  young  man  was  but  the  wreck  of  himself — and,  from 
the  delirious  ravings  which  shook  his  thin  frame,  seemed  to 
be  possessed  by  but  one  absorbing  thought — his  love. 


352  HESKY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAK. 

He  would  ramble  on  thus  for  hours,  his  memory  return 
ing  to  all  the  happy  scenes  of  the  past :  and  looking  at 
times  into  the  face  of  Tom  Alston,  who  scarcely  ever  left 
his  side,  he  would  speak  of  her  with  an  accent  of  such 
tenderness,  that  the  honest  fellow  had  to  turn  away  his 
head  to  hide  the  tears  in  his  eyes. 

Mr.  Alston  had  found  that  one  of  the  most  soothing 
medicines,  so  to  speak,  consisted  in  holding  before  his 
friend's  eyes  the  picture  resembling  Bonnybel ; — and  in 
order  that  the  sick  man  might  have  the  full  benefit  of  the 
painting,  its  position  had  been  changed  to  the  wall  in  front 
of  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

The  young  man  did  not  seem  to  associate  with  the  girl 
thus  brought  to  his  mind,  a  single  event  of  a  sorrowful 
nature.  It  was  the  Bonnybel  of  the  happy  past  which  he 
gazed  at  with  pensive  pleasure;  and  he  would  lie  thus 
for  hours,  gazing  in  silence  at  the  picture,  or  speaking  to 
it. 

At  last  the  crisis  of  his  malady  came,  and  seated  at  the 
side  of  the  bed,  Tom  Alston  and  the  old  physician  folloAved 
every  indication  of  the  disease.  Life  and  death  seemed  to 
wrestle  over  the  young  man's  body — but  life  conquered. 
From  the  brink  of  the  grave  he  returned  to  life,  and  with 
every  hour  now,  to  his  friends'  inexpressible  delight,  he 
grew  better. 

One  morning  Mr.  Alston  had  taken  advantage  of  the 
favorable  condition  of  his  friend,  to  go  and  get  some  sleep. 
He  had  nearly  broken  himself  down,  this  honest  fop,  by 
those  vigils  at  the  bedside  of  his  friend  night  after  night ; 
and  yielding  at  last  to  the  doctor's  expostulations,  he  went 
to  the  Raleigh  and  slept. 

St.  John  sank  into  a  gentle  slumber  soon  after  his 
friend's  departure  ;  and  he  had  a  happy  dream,  he  thought. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  awake  and  gazing  at  the 
picture  resembling  Bonnybel,  when  the  door  opened  noise 
lessly,  a  light  footfall  rustled  on  the  cai-pet,  and  the  figure 
on  the  wall,  as  he  continued  to  gaze,  slowly  became  living, 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  353 

advanced  from  its  frame,  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
looking  at  him. 

A  change,  however,  seemed  to  have  taken  place  in  the 
features.  The  picture  was  happy  and  smiling,  while  the 
figure  of  his  imagination  gazed  at  him  with  inexpressible 
sadness,  sobbing  and  permitting  large  tears  to  escape  un 
heeded,  as  the  eyes  continued  to  survey  him. 

Then  as  though  to  perfect  the  vision,  another  figure 
advanced  to  the  side  of  the  first ;  and  the  young  man  rec 
ognized  the  sad  face  of  Helen,  weeping  like  the  image  of 
her  sister. 

The  figures  stood  thus  for  some  moments,  motionless  and 
silent,  except  for  the  low  sobs  ;  and  then  slowly  separating, 
right  and  left,  they  came  to  the  side  of  his  bed. 

The  figure  of  Bonnybel  sank  into  a  chair,  and  the  head 
drooped  until  it  rested  upon  the  bed.  Her  companion 
also  sank  down,  and  for  some  minutes  he  seemed  to  hear 
low  sobs,  of  inexpressible  sorrow,  dying  away  one  after 
another  in  the  silence. 

He  tried  to  move  and  speak,  and  bid  the  vision  not  sob 
so  ;  but  he  could  not.  An  influence,  gentle  and  yet  all 
powerful,  seemed  to  paralyze  his  limbs. 

Then  the  figure  of  Bonnybel  slowly  raised  its  head,  and 
he  saw  that  the  eyes  were  red  with  weeping  ;  and  turning 
his  head,  he  perceived  that  the  other  image  wept  also. 

As  he  looked,  he  felt  a  soft  warm  hand  encircle  his  wrist, 
a  tear  fell  upon  it ;  and  this  was  followed  by  a  kiss  which 
the  figure  Bonnybel  pressed  upon  his  thin,  pale  hand. 

He  tried  again  to  move,  but  could  not. 

And  then  he  saw  the  figures  rise,  stand  for  an  instant 
gazing  at  him  with  grief  too  deep  for  words ;  and  then 
they  seemed  slowly  to  disappear,  and  the  picture  on  the 
wall  smiled  as  before. 

From  that  time  he  grew  rapidly  better — the  disease 
retreated,  and  the  color  began  to  return  to  his  cheek. 
Life  again  infused  itself  like  a  subtle  liquid  into  all  the 
cells  of  his  being,  and  his  eyes  every  hour  grew  clearer. 


354  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

At  last  he  rose,  and  as  before,  at  "Flower  of  Hun 
dreds,"  lay  beneath  the  window  inhaling  the  fresh  breeze 
and  basking  in  the  sunshine ;  and  finally,  Tom  Alston, 
with  the  doctor's  permission,  drove  him  out.  On  the 
next  morning,  after  a  sound  sleep,  the  young  man  was 
well. 

Nothing  remained  of  his  illness  but  a  slight  paleness 
and  a  settled  melancholy.  The  old  physician  could  cure 
the  body,  but  he  could  not  minister  to  the  mind  diseased. 

Mr.  St.  John  was  entirely  uncomplaining  now — he  was 
also  entirely  hopeless. 


CHAPTER   LXVII. 

HOW     ST.     JOHN      KEPT     HIS     APPOINTMENT     WITH     THE 
STEANGEE. 

THEEE  days  after  the  morning  ride  of  the  friends,  and 
about  midnight,  a  man  was  seated  in  the  upper  room  of 
the  tall  house  pointed  out  by  the  stranger  to  St.  John, 
and  bending  over  a  great  table  covered  with  papers,  was 
writing  rapidly. 

It  was  the  stranger  himself. 

He  was  clad  in  the  same  sable  suit — his  face  was  pale 
and  earnest  as  before — and  he  was  writing  by  the  light  of 
a  single  candle  which  sent  its  feeble  glimmer  far  across  the 
roofs  of  the  houses — a  solitary  sentinel,  in  its  watch-tower, 
over  the  sleeping  town. 

The  stranger  continued  writing  for  half  an  hour  without 
raising  his  head ;  but  at  the  end  of  that  time,  a  footstep 
upon  the  winding  stair-case  attracted  his  attention. 

He  listened  as  the  step  ascended,  and  went  to  the  door, 
which  he  threw  open. 

He  found  himself  opposite  to  Mr.  St.  John. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  you,  friend  !"  he  said  ;  "  welcome  !  And  yet  I 
grieve  to  see  you — if — " 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  355 

And  a  look  of  inquiry  ended  the  sentence. 

St.  John  inclined  his  head,  slowly,  and  took  the  seat  to 
ward  which  the  stranger  motioned  him. 

"  I  reply  to  your  tmuttered  question,"  said  the  young  man, 
calmly ;  "  yes,  I  have  come  to  seek  you,  as  you  predicted 
I  would  come.  It  is  to  do  my  duty — to  try  at  least.  I  am 
ready  to  do  all  that  a  broken-hearted  man  may  do — a  poor 
gentleman.  You  were  right ;  I  am  miserable,  utterly  so — 
you  triumph." 

Having  thus  spoken  in  a  tone  of  gloomy,  but  uncomplain 
ing  despair,  the  young  man  leaned  upon  the  table,  and  low 
ered  his  eyes. 

The  stranger  looked  at  him  long  and  intently,  without 
speaking.  Then  taking  his  cold  hand  and  pressing  it, 

"  You  will  not  think  me  insincere  when  I  tell  you,  sir,"  he 
said,  "  that  your  unhappiness  deeply  afflicts  me.  I  will  not  be 
guilty  of  the  bad  taste  of  asking  its  nature,  of  probing  your 
wounds  afresh,  and  making  you  suffer  for  the  gratification 
of  my  curiosity.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  know  that  you  are 
grieved,  and  I  most  sincerely  sympathize  with  you,  and,  if 
possible,  would  endeavor  to  console  you." 

There  was  great  dignity  in  the  air  of  the  stranger,  as  he 
spoke,  and  that  sincerity  which  springs  from  a  superior  na 
ture,  but  the  young  man  only  shook  his  head,  and  muttered 
some  inaudible  thanks. 

"  So  let  it  be  then,  friend,"  said  the  stranger,  "  I  shall  ask 
you  no  questions  and  offer  no  common-place  consolations. 
Will  you  permit  me,  however,  to  make  one  observation  be 
fore  we  dismiss  the  subject  ?" 

"  Willingly." 

"  Do  you  remember  one  day  when  we  dined  in  your  pri 
vate  apartment  at  the  Raleigh  tavern  ?" 

"  Yes,  perfectly,"  said  St.  John. 

"Do  you  remember  observing  my  silence  and  abstrac 
tion  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  To  end  my  questions — do  you  recall  that  history  of 


356  HENBY  ST.   JOHN,   GESTLEMAN. 

my  life  which  I  related  in  the  old  church  at  Richmond 
town  ?'» 

"  I  shall  not  forget  it." 

" Well, friend,"  said  the  stranger,  calmly,  "the  apartment 
to  which  you  conducted  me,  in  the  Raleigh  tavern,  was  the 
one  which  she  occupied,  when  I  knew  her  first — the  wo 
man  who  was  more  to  me  than  life.  There  first  I  saw  her, 
there  she  moved  about,  and  sat,  and  read,  and  smiled ;  there 
first  her  head  rested  on  my  breast,  and  I  heard  her  heart 
speak  to  me.  Well,  I  thus  entered  that  room  again  at  your 
invitation,  after  years  of  absence,  and  I  recognized,  per 
fectly,  every  detail  of  the  apartment — the  windows,  the  old 
mirror  above  the  fireplace,  the  very  andirons,  and  the  crack 
in  the  plaster  of  the  wall.  Here  she  had  sat  down  and 
looked  at  me  so  kindly,  there  she  had  stood  with  the  breeze 
lifting  her  curls,  yonder  she  had  leaned  one  white  arm  on 
the  moulding — I  saw  all,  and  lived  through  the  whole  past 
again.  You  observed  my  abstraction,  I  remember ;  you 
gazed  at  me  as  I  leaned  on  the  table,  and  left  the  wine  un- 
tasted,  and  mused." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  all  that,  sir,"  said  St.  John,  "  and  I  feel  for 
you." 

"  Let  me  finish,  friend  ;  it  is  not  idly  that  I  recall  all  this. 
I  say  that  there,  in  that  apartment,  I  thus  recalled  to  my 
mind  the  grand  hours  of  my  life,  when  my  horizon  was  all 
sunshine,  and  the  sad  present  was  set,  like  a  black  figure, 
against  that  dead  sunlight.  Well,  I  did  not  groan  and  sob, 
turn  pale,  and  cover  my  face.  I  looked,  in  turn,  upon  every 
object ;  I  traversed  the  whole  past  with  a  single  glance,  and 
then  I  returned  to  the  subject  we  had  been  discussing,  with 
out  emotion.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

St  John  inclined  his  head,  calmly. 

"  You  wish  to  console  me,"  he  said.     "  I  thank  you." 

"  I  wish,  indeed,  to  say  to  you  that  the  lapse  of  time 
slowly  wears  away  the  deepest  impressions,  that  grief  gradu 
ally  disappears,  that  God  finally  leaves  us  only  that  pensive 
sadness  which  surrounds  the  beloved  and  lost  ficrure  with  a 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  357 

sort  of  glory,  contributing  far  more  to  our  happiness  than 
our  misery." 

St.  John  remained  silent. 

"I  have  said,"  added  the  stranger,  "that  I  would  not 
weary  you,  in  your  doubtless  great  grief,  with  common 
place  consolations.  But  I  declare  to  you,  friend,  as  the  result 
of  the  observation  and  experience  of  a  life  crammed  with 
bitter  and  corroding  emotions — I  declare  to  you,  I  say,  as  a 
proposition,  a  truth,  which  can  not  be  refuted,  or  modified 
in  its  application,  that  the  merciful  God,  who  has  made  the 
creature  man,  does  not  design,  nor  will  he  permit  grief  to 
master  us,  the  clouds  to  overshadow  us  for  ever.  The  gloom 
will  disappear,  the  sun  will  again  shine,  that  hope  which 
now  flies  from  you  for  ever,  as  you  imagine,  will  return,  and 
again  you  will  be  happy." 

St.  John  listened  in  the  same  gloomy  silence,  and  said  at 
last, 

"  I  know  not  if  I  even  believe  in  a  God,  but  I  do  in  my 
destiny." 

The  stranger  looked  sadly  at  his  companion. 

"  I  thought  the  old  Greek  dogma  had  disappeared,  friend," 
he  said  ;  "  destiny  is  but  another  word  for  chance,  however 
opposite  they  may  seem." 

"  Well,  I  do  not  refuse  that  philosophy  either." 

"  Look  at  that  flower  on  my  table,"  said  the  stranger ; 
"  that  alone  refutes  you." 

"  An  apple  blossom ;  yes,  it  is  very  pretty  ;  simple,  but 
delicate  and  beautiful." 

"  Simple  ?"  said  the  stranger  ;  "  there,  friend,  you  err  ; 
't  is  a  miracle  of  complexity.  Its  history  unfolds  the  spirit 
of  the  universe,  and  simple  as  that  flower  may  seem  to  you, 
the  links  of  an  invisible  chain  bind  it  to  the  throne  of  the 
Eternal.  Look  at  it  with  me  ;  see  these  delicate  petals,  like 
rose-colored  velvet,  the  germ  of  the  fruit  in  the  middle  of 
the  star,  the  down  on  the  leaf  and  around  the  stem.  A 
thousand  trees  shall  grow  upon  a  hundred  hills,  and  no  one 
shall  produce  a  different  bloom,  and  if  this  be  conceded, 


358  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

friend,  't  is  violating  reason  to  dub  such  causality  as  is  here 
apparent,  with  the  name  of  chance.  Chance  might,  if  you 
choose,  originate  this  blossom,  though  I  could  never  com 
prehend  the  meaning  of  the  word,  even ;  but  could  a  blind 
chance  continue  to  produce  ?  Let  it  be  granted  that  this 
wonderful  trifle  came  by  accident,  could  accident  constantly 
renew  it  ?  Is  it  not  a  mere  contradiction,  I  ask  you  calmly, 
friend  ?  To  me  it  is  evident  that  this  incessant  reproduc 
tion,  this  fatal  sequence,  involves  necessarily  the  existence  of 
law.  The  bough  buds  and  blooms,  the  bloom  falls  away, 
the  green  germ  expands  into  a  globe,  striped  or  mottled, 
filled  with  j  uice,  sour  or  sweet,  and  the  small  seed  of  this 
globe  possesses  the  reproductive  power  so  perfectly  that 
with  a  handful  you  may  plant  a  forest.  Year  after  year  that 
forest,  in  turn,  blossoms  and  bears  fruit — what  fruit  ?  Why 
the  same,  absolutely  the  same,  and  the  existence  of  immut 
able  law  thus  reveals  itself.  I  see  you  acquiesce. 

"  Well  now  friend,"  continued  the  stranger,  whose  de 
sign  seemed  to  be  a  diversion  of  the  young  man's  thoughts, 
"  if  this  law  does  beyond  doubt  exist,  how  was  it  estab 
lished  ?  Chaos  as  you  know  is  the  primal  condition  of 
matter — does  order  evolve  itself  from  chaos  blindly  ?  or 
can  law  itself  rise  from  anarchy  without  a  motor,  a  fiat  of 
some  greater  power  ?  There  must  of  necessity  be  some 
thing  above  chaos  and  anarchy,  to  bring  forth  law  and 
order.  What  must  it  be  ?  Why  a  God.  It  seems  to  me, 
friend,  that  the  necessity  for  this  Being  is  more  fatally 
logical,  armed  with  a  wedge  more  penetrating,  than  the 
Greek  '  Necessity.' " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  say  that  I  doubted  the  existence  of 
a  supreme  Being,"  said  St.  John  gloomily ;  "  I  only  say 
that  this  Being,  if  he  exists,  has  made  my  life  darkness," 

"  How  do  you  know  that  fact  ?" 

"  My  reason  tells  me  so — to  answer  you  philosophically," 
said  St.  John. 

"And  what  does  your  reason  tell  you  about  the  atone 
ment  ?" 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  359 

"  It  recoils." 

"  I  thought  so.  Well,  friend,  permit  me  to  say  that  you 
reject  these  consolations  precisely  because  you  reason  as 
you  do,  with  the  head." 

"  How  should  I  ?" 

"  As  a  child  does,  with  the  heart." 

"  Must  I  embrace  blindly  ?"  said  the  young  man  with 
gloomy  calmness.  "  I  can  not  do  that." 

"  Xo  one  expects  you  to." 

"  How  then  ?» 

"  With  faith  founded  on  reason — a  *  reasonable  faith.'  " 

"  Faith  and  reason  are  implacable  enemies,"  said  St. 
John  struggling  gloomily  against  hope,  "  the  encyclopae 
dists  prove  that " 

"  Man  is  a  machine.  So  they  do,  friend,"  interrupted  the 
stranger.  "  Well  they  make  but  sorry  machines  of  us — I 
prefer  one  of  wood  and  iron  to  their  imaginary  men.  I 
say  that  faith  and  reason,  so  far  from  being  hostile,  are  in 
separable  ; — true  faith  and  right  reason,  understand  me, 
friend — else  we  wander.  It  is  no  quibble  to  say  you  must 
exert  faith  to  believe  in  reason — to  comprehend  what  is 
really  such.  I  do  not  cah1  a  skepticism,  springing  from 
depravity  of  life,  and  warping  mind  and  heart,  the  triumph 
of  reason.  I  say  that  the  French  idea  of  it  is  based  at 
most  on  science  and  philosophy  miscalled ;  and  the  ency 
clopaedists  stumble  in  the  dark,  and  utter  only  broken 
words,  for  science  and  philosophy  are  progressive.  Do 
you  comprehend  the  immense  significance  of  this  fact, 
friend  ?  Undoubtedly  both  science  and  philosophy  are 
constantly  advancing  and  unfolding — well,  the  philosophy 
preached  by  Paul  in  the  name  of  his  Master,  is  perfect, 
finished,  not  progressive.  From  Plato  and  Pythagoras, 
to  Diderot  and  D'Alembert,  the  philosophers  of  all  nations 
have  been  speculating  on  the  mystery  of  human  life — man's 
destiny ;  and  those  accomplished  intellects,  you  must  con 
fess,  have  come  to  different  conclusions.  They  all  appealed 
to  science  and  philosophy,  and  their  systems  have  all  been 


360  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

rejected — because  the  child  who  succeeds  the  octogenarian 
knows  more  than  the  gray-haired  thinker — has  the  benefit 
of  every  new  discovery,  a  sealed  book  to  the  generation 
preceding  him.  That  is  undoubtedly  the  state  of  science. 
What  is  revelation,  by  which  term  I  mean  of  course  the 
system  of  the  '  Nazarene  philosopher,'  as  says  a  friend  of 
mine  ?  Is  it  either  progressive  or  defective  ?  More  than 
seventeen  hundred  years  ago,  from  the  depths  of  the  East, 
where  the  paganism  of  the  profligate  Romans  mingled 
with  the  groveling  hypocrisy  of  the  debased  Hebrews — 
from  this  repulsive  society  of  hard  masters  and  cowering 
slaves,  came  a  man  of  thirty,  announcing  a  new  system. 
He  was  poor,  and  his  followers  were  some  fishermen  from 
the  most  gnorant  district  of  the  country  of  Galilee.  This 
man  continued  to  disseminate  his  views  for  three  years,  and 
then  the  Hebrews,  whom  he  arraigned  as  hypocrites,  pro 
cured  his  execution  as  a  seditious  person,  in  the  Roman 
manner — by  crucifixion.  What  was  the  system  of  this 
young  philosopher,  the  philosophy  originating  in  the  most 
debased  age  and  people  of  which  history  speaks  ?  Friend, 
you  may  read  it  in  the  book  called  by  that  Greek  word 
itself — the  Bible.  If  you  do  not  see  that  the  model  therein 
given  is  superior  to  the  highest  development  of  holiness 
found  in  the  purest  ages  and  the  most  enlightened  coun 
tries,  you  must  read  without  the  s'tudent's  mind.  As  I 
have  said  over  and  over,  human  philosophy  is  progressive, 
and  consequently  defective ;  the  divine  system  is  not  pro 
gressive,  because  it  is  perfect.  It  has  not  advanced  one 
step  for  seventeen  hundred  years,  and  is  still  immeasurably 
in  advance  of  our  purer  civilization.  Is  that  not  plain? 
Look  at  it  as  a  statesman  searching  for  the  means  of  lead 
ing  a  great  land  to  happiness  and  glory ;  then  say  if  you 
can  doubt  that  if  the  precepts  of  the  Nazarene  philosopher 
— I  mean  love  and  charity — were  the  common  law,  the 
world  would  touch  the  summit  of  her  splendor,  her  peace 
and  joy  ?  Year  by  year,  the  world  has  advanced  to  higher 
heights  under  the  banner  bearing  that  rude  instrument  on 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  361 

which  the  Founder  was  executed — the  Cross  drives  the 
powers  of  darkness  before  its  triumphal  march.  Thus  the 
earth  blossoms  every  year  with  purer  flowers ;  but  where 
is  the  individual  whose  life  has  approached  the  great  Ex 
emplar's  ?  He  was  a  poor  youth,  reared  up  in  the  midst 
of  the  superstition,  cruelty,  and  debasement  of  a  pagan 
land  and  nation.  You,  a  Virginia  gentleman  of  the  eigh 
teenth  century  can  not  touch  the  threshold  of  this  majestic 
temple,  where  truth  and  goodness  sit  like  queens.  I  finish 
by  saying,  that  if  there  is  any  cause  and  effect,  the  system 
can  not  be  of  human  origin.  I  would  rather  believe  the 
miracles  recorded  in  that  book  than  credit  the  idea  that 
the  man  who  founded  its  system  was  merely  a  man — a  sys 
tem  which,  after  two  thousand  years  nearly,  soars  above  the 
onward  march  of  the  nations,  and  remains  unapproached 
and  unapproachable.  Reason  shifts  and  changes,  and  the 
philosophy  of  to-day  is  the  byword  of  the  morrow.  This 
revelation  alone  does  not  change — because  man  eternally 
requires  the  same  consolation,  just  this,  and  this  alone — and 
so  it  will  be  to  the  end.  Friend,  there  are  times  when  the 
cold  reason  brings  but  sorry  consolation.  When  the  heart 
is  broken  with  grief,  the  spirit  weary  and  worn  by  sorrow, 
the  eye  dim,  and  the  blood  cold,  at  such  times  we  do  not 
read  the  encyclopaedia.  We  then  feel  that  the  heart  is 
greater  than  the  intellect — that  after  all  we  are  not  ma 
chines — we  find  in  faith  that  rest  which  the  wounded  seek 
when  they  drag  their  bleeding  limbs  from  the  battle  field. 
I  ask  for  the  healing  balm,  and  will  not  listen  to  Voltaire 
who  stands  by  and  sneers,  and  tries  to  persuade  me  that  it 
is  a  nostrum.  And  now  pardon  me  for  these  many  words; 
my  excuse  is  that  they  are  true." 

"  There  is  nothing  for  me  to  pardon,"  said  St.  John,  in  the 
same  cold  and  gloomy  tone ;  "  I  should  rather  return  you 
my  thanks,  friend.  I  see  plainly  that  your  object  is  to  con 
sole  me  in  my  affliction.  I  only  regret  that 't  is  impossible. 
Whatever  I  may  have  in  the  future,  I  have  now  no  faith 
like  yours.  I  lament  it,  but  I  can  not  help  it.  Let  me  not 

16 


362  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

longer  trespass  on  your  time  than  is  absolutely  necessary. 
You  were  writing  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  stranger,  abandoning  the  subject,  as  his 
companion  desired,  "  I  was  at  work." 

"  And  I  interrupt  you." 

"  No,  it  is  not  interruption  to  see  friends,  whatever  hav 
ing  others  by  me  may  be.  The  mind  gathers  strength  and 
elasticity  from  rest.  My  pamphlet  will  end  with  greater 
vigor  for  your  visit." 

And  the  stranger  lifted  one  of  the  sheets  and  ran  his  eye 
over  it  with  that  comprehensive  glance  peculiar  to  authors. 

"  I  have  nearly  finished,"  he  said. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  St.  John,  who  had  never  for  a  mo 
ment  lost  his  cold  and  gloomy  air,  and  seemed  indeed  to 
move  and  speak  like  a  lifeless  automaton ;  "  is  it  revolution 
ary  ?» 

"  You  shall  judge  for  yourself." 

And  the  stranger  pointed  to  a  rough  printed  sheet  of  proof. 
Mr.  St.  John  read, 

"  THOUGHTS  ON  THE  PRESENT  ASPECT  or  AFFAIRS,  BY  A 
MAN  OF  THE  TIMES." 

As  he  was  reading  the  commencement  of  the  pamphlet, 
a  tap  at  the  door  announced  a  visitor,  and  without  waiting 
for  permission,  a  printer's  boy  entered. 

The  stranger  handed  him  the  pages  of  MS.,  and  he  re 
tired  as  silently  as  he  had  come. 

St.  John,  for  a  moment  interrupted,  again  returned  to  the 
pamphlet,  and  having  read  the  two  or  three  sheets,  said,  as 
he  laid  them  down, 

"  That  seems  to  me  treason,  friend — it  will  be  seized." 

"  No,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Why  not  ?» 

"  At  least  if  it  is  seized,  that  ceremony  will  take  place  in 
a  thousand  separate  localities  throughout  Virginia."  . 

"  You  do  not  publish  here  then  ?" 

"  No,  't  is  only  printed  here." 

"  And  scattered  by  your  agents  ?" 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  363 

The  stranger  nodded. 

St.  John  reflected  for  some  moments  without  speaking, 
and  then  said, 

"  I  came  to  offer  you  a  gift  for  the  cause,  friend.  'T  is 
twenty  thousand  pounds,  in  valid  securities,  for  which  I  will 
take  your  receipt." 

The  young  man  uttei'ed  these  words  as  coldly  as  before, 
and  then  waited  for  the  stranger's  reply. 

That  reply  was  a  refusal  of  the  money,  on  the  ground 
that  the  association  would  not  consent  to  impoverish  its 
friends  even  for  the  general  good.  The  stranger  presented 
his  view  at  great  length  and  earnestly,  but  St.  John  did  not 
seem  in  the  least  moved  by  his  arguments. 

"  Well,  friend,"  he  said,  with  gloomy  calmness  and  the 
same  measured,  automaton-like  movement  of  the  head, "  well, 
be  it  as  you  wish.  I  can  not  force  you  to  accept  the  gift  I 
offer ;  but  I  forewarn  you  that  this  refusal  will  be  injurious 
to  me,  perhaps  fatal,  if  I  do  not  forestall  its  effects.  You 
look  at  me  with  curiosity,  and  my  words  even  seem  to  cause 
you  concern  ;  well,  I  will  respond  to  the  silent  question  of 
your  eyes ;  I  will  speak  plainly  as  you  formerly  spoke ;  I 
will  explain  my  meaning,  and  the  action  I  have  taken." 

St.  John  paused  a  moment,  and  suppressed  the  groan 
which  struggled  for  utterance — in  an  instant  he  was  again 
calm. 

"Since  I  last  saw  you,  friend,"  he  said,  coldly,  "I  have 
suffered  a  misfortune  which  henceforth  renders  me  the  vic 
tim  of  an  incurable  despair.  I  shall  only  say,  upon  this 
point,  that  my  despair  proceeds  from  the  changed  rela 
tions  of  a  woman  who  is  no  longer  the  same  to  me,  and  has 
broken  my  heart.  'T  is  almost  a  piece  of  cant,  the  phrase 
which  I  use,  but  it  is  true.  You  will  easily  understand,  after 
these  words,  that  I  can  not  remain  where  I  was  once  happy. 
I  can  not  look  upon  the  objects  which  were  familiar  to  me 
and  to  her,  without  breaking  my  heart  daily,  and  opening 
afresh  my  almost  mortal  wounds.  I  fear  to  do  so.  I  think 
my  frame,  already  much  weakened  by  illness,  would  sue- 


364  HENKY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

cumb.  I  shall  therefore  go  away  from  these  scenes ;  I  shall 
never  again  look  upon  them.  I  have  just  perfected  the  ar 
rangements  by  which  my  whole  property  is  alienated,  my 
intention  being  to  leave  Virginia  for  ever.  I  have  executed, 
in  the  first  place,  a  deed  by  which  my  old  and  faithful  serv 
ants,  with  their  entire  families,  are  conveyed  in  fee  simple 
to  a  gentleman  living  near  me,  my  uncle — one  who  has  been 
a  most  tender  father  to  me  in  my  orphanage,  refusing  abso 
lutely  to  accept  the  least  return  for  his  kindness,  or  even  so 
much  as  repayment  of  his  expenditures  on  my  account. 
This  deed  is  properly  drawn,  and  my  uncle  will  have  no 
choice  in  the  matter,  for  I  shall  be  dead,  as  it  were,  and  it 
is  in  fact  a  bequest  by  my  last  will  and  testament.  Well, 
there  was  so  much  taken  from  the  cause,  but  I  did  not  dream 
of  any  other  course.  My  real  estate  remained,  and  that  is 
all  free  from  incumbrance.  See  these  papers — they  are  ap 
proved  securities  from  the  purchaser,  Mr.  A.  Z.  Smith,  of  this 
town.  At  the  moment  when  he  affixed  his  name  to  them, 
I  felt  almost  relieved,  for,  from  that  instant  I  should  no 
longer  look  upon  scenes  which  it  teai-s  my  very  soul  to  ap 
proach  now.  You  spoke  of  that  room  at  the  Raleigh,  friend  ; 
you  say  you  were  simply  sad.  With  me  it  is  diiferent,  for 
there  is  a  room  yonder  in  my  house,  which  would  strangle 
me  with  memories  should  I  enter  it,  were  I  not  to  faint  and 
fall  on  the  threshold. 

"  But  I  wander.  Let  me  say  what  I  intended.  I  thus 
hold  in  my  hand  the  purchase  money  of  my  manor  house  and 
plantation,  but  it  will  not  remain  by  me  long.  It  shall  not 
be  the  accursed  temptation  in  my  grasp,  corrupting  me,  and 
leading  me  to  those  desperate  courses  by  which  men  most 
frequently  try  to  drown  despair.  No,  I  am  resolved,  friend. 
I  will  not  retain  the  means  of  drugging  myself  with  sensual 
poison,  and  of  thus  slowly  slipping,  as  it  were,  into  the  gulf 
of  perdition.  I  know  myself  well  enough  to  understand 
that  I  require  rough  medicine,  if  indeed  any  medicine  at  all 
exists,  for  my  disease.  I  must  wrestle  with  the  hard  world 
if  I  would  retain  even  my  faith  of  gentleman,  if  I  would 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  365 

forget  what  has  paralyzed  me.  Well,  friend,  do  you  still 
refuse  ?  If  you  do,  I  have  only  to  add  that  the  dice  will 
relieve  me  of  my  incumbrance.  I  have  a  natural  and  ac 
quired  fondness  for  the  vice  of  play,  and,  from  my  past  ex 
perience,  I  do  Yiot  despair  of  being  rapidly  relieved.  Speak 
finally  now,  for  myself  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

And  the  young  man,  as  cold  and  gloomy  as  ever,  ceased 
speaking,  looking  out  into  the  gloomy  night. 

The  stranger  did  not  reply  for  some  moments.  During 
this  pause,  his  penetrating  eyes  were  fixed  intently  upon  the 
face  of  his  companion,  and  he  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  in 
presence  of  a  man  who  had  finally  resolved,  and  whom  it 
was  useless  to  make  any  effort  to  move.  Then,  as  he  gazed, 
a  sigh  shook  his  breast,  and  an  expression  of  compassion, 
almost  tender,  as  a  father's  for  an  unhappy  child,  softened 
the  iron  features,  and  vailed  the  brilliant  eyes. 

He  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  laying  it  kindly  on  the 
young  man's  shoulder,  said, 

"  You  must  suffer  much." 

"  I  do,"  was  the  gloomy  reply. 

"  Is  there  no  means  of  relieving  this  unhappiness  ?" 

"  None." 

"  You  will  not  confide  in  me  entirely,  and  take  my  ad 
vice." 

"  It  is  useless,  friend  ;  it  will  only  tear  open  my  wounds." 

A  silence  followed  the  low  words,  during  which  neither 
spoke. 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  the  stranger,  at  length  ;  "  I  do  not  fur 
ther  urge  you,  and  I  accept  your  gift." 

With  these  words,  he  took  a  piece  of  paper,  wrote  some 
lines  on  it,  and  received  in  exchange  for  it  the  papers  which 
St.  John  still  held  in  his  hand. 

"  I  retain  what  I  need,"  said  the  young  man,  "  and  my 
future  is  already  resolved  on." 

"  That  at  least  you  can  speak  of." 

"  Assuredly.  I  shall  to-morrow  apply  to  the  Governor  of 
Virginia  for  a  commission  in  the  service  of  his  Majesty." 


366  HENRY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

"  Ah  !  you  apply  to  Dunmore  ?" 

"  Yes.  That  is,  to  the  Governor  of  this  colony,  in  his  of 
ficial  capacity ;  my  plea  being  simply  that  I  am  an  educated 
Virginian." 

"  You  go  West  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  the  Indian  wars,  and,  if  I  do  not  die  there,  down 
the  Ohio  river  to  New  Spain,  thence  to  Europe." 

And  the  young  man  looked,  with  the  calmness  of  despair, 
through  the  window,  at  the  stars. 

The  stranger  sighed,  and  his  clear  eyes  were  again  vailed 
with  their  expression  of  compassionate  regret. 

"  I  understand  all  now,"  he  said,  "  and  I  can  not  oppose  your 
plans.  I  know  well  that  the  heart,  when  deeply  wounded, 
instinctively  recoils  from,  the  sight  of  those  objects  familiar 
to  it  in  the  hours  of  happiness;  I  know  that  the  impulse  to 
go  away  to  some  distant  land,  to  new  scenes  and  adventures, 
which  will  divert  the  mind's  eternal  brooding,  is  unconquer 
able.  Perhaps,  after  all,  you  have  adopted  the  best  course, 
and  in  a  few  years  you  will  return  cured  of  your  wounds." 

The  young  man  replied  by  a  gloomy  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Well,"  said  the  stranger,  "  let  us  leave  it  to  time.  To 
return  to  the  affairs  of  the  moment,  I  think  you  are  right  in 
going  to  the  frontier.  At  last  his  Excellency  has  sounded 
the  bugle  blast,  and  the  men  of  Virginia  are  mustering  to 
the  rendezvous.  General  Lewis,  a  giant  among  giants,  the 
brave  of  braves,  is  in  Williamsburg,  and  in  ten  days  the 
army  will  be  on  its  march,  his  Excellency  following  it  with 
his  select  corps." 

The  stranger  spoke  coolly,  but  a  meaning  glance  showed 
that  his  words  contained  more  than  they  expressed.  What 
he  now  added  proved  this  : 

"  This  is  the  affair  as  it  appears  in  the  official  proclama 
tion,"  continued  the  stranger,  "  and  even  to  the  eyes  of 
many  Virginians.  Those  who  pierce  beneath  the  wrappings 
of  events  see  differently,  however.  It  is  my  profound  con 
viction  that  this  man,  Dunmore,  is  going  out  yonder  to  per 
fect  the  treachery  which  he  long  since  conceived.  Conolly 


HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  367 

laid  the  train — his  master  will  apply  the  match.  You  are 
going  to  look  on,  and  hear  the  explosion.  It  is  really  the 
cause  of  liberty  which  you  serve,  in  diverting  thus  your  own 
private  grief.  Let  that  cheer  you." 

And  the  stranger  again  looked  earnestly  and  compassion 
ately  at  St.  John,  and  was  silent. 

The  young  man  rose. 

"  Friend,"  he  saidv  "  I  have  listened  as  you  have  listened 
to  me,  and  I  thank  you.  You  more  than  ever  confirm  me 
in  my  intention,  and  I  shall  early  in  the  morning  proceed 
to  put  it  into  execution — take  the  first  step.  Yes,  from  this 
time  forth  I  am  a  wanderer,  and  if  that  wandering  will  ben 
efit  a  cause  which  I  feel  is  just  and  noble,  so  much  the  bet 
ter.-  I  shall  apply  for  the  commission  of  lieutenant — if  it  is 
refused,  I  shall  volunteer  in  the  ranks.  Now  I  will  go,  hav 
ing  too  far  trespassed  already  on  your  valuable  time.  You 
are  courteous  to  shake  your  head,  but  I  have  seriously  inter 
rupted  you.  Well,  good  friend,  let  us  now  part.  I  shall 
see  you  again  before  I  go — until  then,  farewell." 

And  exchanging  a  grasp  of  the  hand  with  his  companion, 
who  still  looked  at  him  with  that  compassionate  softness, 
dimming  the  brilliant  and  penetrating  eyes,  the  young  man 
took  his  departure,  and  soon  regained  the  street,  which  was 
still  and  vacant. 

With  measured  steps,  and  in  silence,  he  sought  his  own 
mansion,  and  the  lonely  stars  looked  down  upon  him,  peer 
ing  with  their  curious  eyes,  as  they  have  looked  on  men  who 
have  suffered  in  all  ages. 

As  he  entered  the  door,  the  young  man  turned  his  head 
and  saw  the  light  still  shining  from  the  lofty  eyrie  of  the 
sti'anger. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  "like  him,  it  keeps  watch  while 
others  sleep.  Sleep !  Oh !  when  shall  I  sleep,  and  not 
awake  ?" 


368  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

CHAPTER   LXVin. 

A     VIRGINIA     GIANT. 

ON  the  next  day  Mr.  St.  John  presented  himself,  clad 
with  the  most  scrupulous  ceremony,  at  the  door  of  Gov 
ernor  Dunmore's  palace. 

He  was  shown  into  the  receiving  room  by  a  solemn  major 
domo  in  black  velvet,  and  thus  found  himself  in  the  presence 
of  the  Governor. 

Lord  Dunmore  was  seated,  as  always,  in  his  great  carved 
chair  covered  with  red  damask,  the  portraits  of  the  king 
and  queen,  respectively,  facing  and  behind  him,  and  at  a 
table,  the  members  of  the  council,  together  with  Captain 
Foy,  were  ranged  in  a  long  and  imposing  array. 

There  was  another  personage  seated  at  some  distance, 
whom  Mr.  St.  John  had  never  before  seen,  and  this  man 
attracted  perforce,  as  it  were,  his  attention. 

He  was  almost  gigantic  in  stature,  with  limbs  moulded 
like  those  of  a  Hercules,  and  his  massive  head,  with  its  long 
hair,  rose  from  a  pair  of  shoulders,  which,  like  those  of  At 
las,  seemed  vigorous  enough  to  bear  aloft  a  world.  The 
broad  collar  was  turned  down,  and  the  throat  of  this  singu 
lar  personage  was  thus  revealed — a  mass  of  iron  muscles, 
and  sinews  like  whip  cords.  He  was  clad  in  a  pair  o^  huge 
horseman's  boots,  to  which  were  affixed  heavy  spurs  with 
enormous  rowels ;  knee  breeches  of  buckskin,  secured  at 
the  knee  by  thongs  instead  of  buckles,  and  over  this  lower 
costume  fell  the  folds  of  a  hunting  shirt,  gathered  round 
the  waist  by  a  broad  leather  belt,  from  which  depended  an 
enormous  broad-sword. 

The  air  of  this  man  had  in  it  a  collected  and  invincible 
resolution,  mingled  with  a  sort  of  wild  and  primitive  ease ; 
but  it  was  the  ease  of  a  stern  and  rugged  nature,  which 
does  not  care  for  the  etiquette  of  courts.  As  though  to 
confirm  this  impression,  the  strange-looking  personage  held 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  369 

in  his  hand,  as  if  from  habit,  a  short  Indian  pipe,  which  he 
passed  backwards  and  forwards  through  his  fingers,  as  he 
gazed  with  a  careless  air  at  the  Governor. 

St.  John  exchanged  a  glance  with  the  individual  as  he 
entered,  and  remembered  afterwards  the  penetrating  eyes 
which  flashed  beneath  the  shaggy  brows. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  Governor,  without  returning  the 
young  man's  bow  in  the  least,  "  pray  what  is  your  pleas 
ure  ?" 

"  I  have  indicated  it  in  the  paper  which  lies  before  your 
Excellency,"  returned  St.  John,  coldly,  pointing  to  the  table, 
and  again  bowing. 

Lord  Dunmore  raised  the  paper  with  a  supercilious  air 
and  looked  at  it  carelessly.  Then  he  looked  again  at  the 
young  man,  and  tried,  after  the  fashion  usual  with  his  lord 
ship,  to  brow-beat  him. 

As  may  be  imagined,  it  had  little  effect.  The  cruel  dis 
tress  of  the  young  man's  mind  was  a  triple  shield  against 
any  thing  which  the  words  or  looks  of  the  Governor  could 
express. 

He  felt  rather  wearied  standing,  while  being  subjected  to 
this  scrutiny — that  was  all — and  looked  round  for  a  chair. 
There  was  none  vacant,  and  although  a  handbell  upon  the 
table  at  his  Excellency's  elbow  would  have  summoned  a 
servant  in  a  moment,  it  remained  untouched. 

"So  this  is  from  yourself,  is  it,  sir?"  said  his  lordship, 
tapping  the  paper  with  his  finger  and  then  throwing  it 
down. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  as  you  may  perceive,  it  bears  my  signa 
ture." 

"  The  signature  of '  H.  St.  John,'  I  believe,"  said  the  Gov 
ernor,  coldly. 

"  That  is  my  name,  your  lordship." 

"  The  name  of  one  who  grossly  insulted  me,  sir !"  said 
his  Excellency,  frowning,  "  and  you  now  expect  me  to  for 
give  and  forget  that,  and  commission  you  anew,  after  your 
insulting  treatment  of  my  last." 

16* 


370  HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

Mr.  St.  John  replied,  with  his  old  gloomy  calmness, 

"Precisely,  my  lord." 

Lord  Dunmore  looked  for  a  moment  at  the  young  man 
with  silent  anger,  and  then  moving  about  in  his  chair,  as 
was  his  habit  when  growing  more  and  more  angry,  said 
rudely, 

"  And  upon  what  grounds  do  you  presume,  sir,  to  make 
this  request  ?" 

"  Will  I  be  permitted  to  inform  your  Excellency  ?"  said 
St.  John. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  Have  I  not  demanded  the  in 
formation." 

"  It  is  true  that  your  Excellency  has  done  so,  and  I  only 
request  permission  to  speak,  uninterrupted." 

The  flush  on  Lord  Dunmore's  brow  grew  deeper,  and  the 
vein  in  his  forehead  swelled. 

"  Mr.  St.  John,"  he  said,  with  a  scowl,  "  you  seem  to 
think  it  necessary  to  bandy  reproaches  with  me  whenever 
you  appear  before  me.  On  former  occasions  I  have  over 
looked  this,  but  I  advise  you,  for  your  own  good,  not  to  re 
peat  them." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  do  so,  my  lord.  I  wish,  on  the  present 
occasion,  simply  to  say,  with  the  highest  respect  for  the  au 
thority  of  your  lordship,  that  I  am  constitutionally  subject 
to  irritation  when  not  permitted  to  speak  in  my  own  way, 
and  for  this  reason  I  solicit  permission  from  your  lordship  to 
speak  without  interruption." 

"Speak,  then,  sir!"  said  Lord  Dunmore,  more  angry 
than  ever,  but  beaten  by  his  adversary's  superior  coolness ; 
"  speak,  and  as  briefly  as  possible." 

"  I  will,  my  lord.  Your  lordship  asked  me  the  grounds 
upon  which  I  apply  for  this  commission — " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  did." 

"  Well  I  reply  to  your  lordship  as  briefly  as  possible,  as 
you  request.  I  resigned  my  former  commission  because  the 
duties  which  it  involved  were  unpleasant  to  me.  In  Vir 
ginia  we  are  so  accustomed  to  be  served,  that  we  can  not 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  371 

ourselves  serve,  as  gentlemen  do,  I  am  told,  in  the  old  world. 
The  duties  of  my  office  of  lieutenant,  in  a  word,  were  dis 
tasteful  to  me,  and  I  resigned  my  commission.  I  see  that 
your  lordship  is  thinking  of  the  scene  on  that  occasion.  It 
was  unfortunate.  I  beg  that  your  lordship  will  make  allow 
ance  for  a  somewhat  excitable  temperament.  After  that 
scene  I  should  certainly  not  apply  for  a  new  commission  in 
my  own  name,  as  it  were,  to  the  nobleman  with  whom  I  had 
had  an  altercation.  It  is  simply  as  an  educated  Virginian 
who  can  furnish  testimonials  of  fitness,  that  I  apply  to  the 
Governor  of  the  colony  of  Virginia  for  a  commission  to  fight 
the  battles  of  Virginia.  I  have  endeavored  to  be  as  brief 
as  possible  in  laying  before  your  lordship  the  state  of  the 
case,  and  need  only  add  that  I  do  not  ask  a  favor.  It  is 
simply  permission  to  join  the  forces  of  the  colony  which  I 
ask — a  commission  in  the  service  of  his  Majesty." 

And  Mr.  St.  John  bowed,  and  was  silent. 

"  Have  you  done,  sir  ?"  said  his  Excellency,  suppressing 
his  anger,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  of  striking  coldness  and 
spitefulness,  if  we  may  use  the  word. 

"  I  have  said  all,  my  lord." 

"  And  you  wish  a  reply  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  is  convenient  to  your  lordship." 

"  It  is  quite  convenient  now,"  said  the  Governor,  with  a 
sneer  ;  "  I  require  no  delay,  sir,  in  deciding  whether  I  will 
commission  a  person  of  your  description  in  his  Majesty's 
service.  No,  sir !  I  regard  your  conduct  and  your  charac 
ter  as  seditious,  and  you  may  congratulate  yourself  upon 
personal  immunity  after  your  deportment  here  upon  a  for 
mer  occasion.  I  refuse  you  the  commission,  sir !  I  need  no 
time  to  reflect !  I  treat  your  special  pleading  about  *  edu 
cated  Virginians'  and  '  Governors  of  this  colony'  with  the 
contempt  which  it  deserves !  I  have  still  another  word  to 
add,  sir !  Beware  how  you  again  cross  this  threshold  with 
your  arrogant  air,  and  your  insults !  Hitherto  I  have  spared 
you — for  the  future,  beware !  Now,  go  sir !  I  have  done 
with  you  1" 


372  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

A  flash  of  his  old  passion  for  an  instant  illuminated,  like 
lurid  lightning,  the  young  man's  haughty  eyes,  but  this  soon 
disappeared.  His  face  again  became  pale  and  cold — his 
eyes  colder  still. 

"  I  am  glad  to  reciprocate  your  Excellency's  desire,  that 
in  future  we  go  separate  ways,"  he  said  with  courtly  calm 
ness  ;  "  I  did  not  seek  your  Excellency  formerly,  you  sought 
me ;  and  now  I  depart,  careless  of  your  Excellency's  hatred 
or  regard." 

Mr.  St.  John  accompanied  these  words  with  a  low  bow, 
and  went  out  of  the  apartment  and  the  palace. 

On  the  same  afternoon  he  was  going  along  Gloucester 
street,  in  front  of  the  Raleigh  tavern,  when  he  heard  a 
grave,  deep  voice  utter  the  words : 

"  Give  you  good  day,  Mr.  St.  John." 

The  young  man  raised  his  head,  and  saw,  standing  upon 
the  portico  of  the  tavern,  the  tall  personage  whom  he  had 
seen  in  the  receiving  room  of  Lord  Dunmore.  At  the  other 
end  of  the  porch,  a  number  of  men,  who  seemed  to  be 
recruits,  were  assembled,  engaged  in  laughing,  talking  and 
drinking.  Their  suddenly-assumed  military  air,  added  to 
the  tarnished  uniforms  worn  by  some  of  the  company,  com 
municated  to  the  Raleigh  the  air  of  a  camp. 

As  to  the  tall  personage  who  thus  saluted  Mr.  St.  John, 
he  was  clad,  as  before,  in  his  rude  costume  of  the  backwoods, 
and  carried  in  his  hand  the  short  pipe,  which  now,  however, 
was  smoking. 

As  he  stood  erect,  apart  from  the  rest,  his  stature 
appeared  more  gigantic  than  before ;  and  the  young  man 
saw  that  his  vigorous  frame  was  moulded  with  extraordinary 
symmetry. 

"  Give  you  good  day,  Mr.  St.  John,"  repeated  the 
stranger,  in  his  deep  voice.  "Do  you  still  hold  to  your 
determination,  expressed  this  morning  to  his  lordship,  of 
going  to  the  frontier  ?" 

"  I  do,  sir,"  said  St.  John,  inclining  his  head.  "  It  is  my 
purpose  to  volunteer  in  the  ranks." 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  373 

"  In  the  ranks  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  As  a  common  soldier  ?" 

"  Precisely,  sir." 

"  That  shall  not  be  necessary,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  in 
the  same  deep,  reserved  voice ;  "  I  will  commission  you." 

"  You  ?"  said  the  young  man,  in  some  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  his  companion,  calmly.  "  A  man  of  your 
coolness,  and  so  disposed  to  serve  the  country,  shall  not 
fight  in  the  ranks,  though  many  gentlemen  will.  You 
deserve  a  commission,  sir,  and  I  make  you  Lieutenant  in 
Colonel  Fleming's  battalion.  My  name  is  Lewis — Andrew 
Lewis,  of  Botetourt,  and  I  listened,  with  pleasure,  to  your 
observations  this  morning." 

St.  John  bowed  to  the  man  of  whom  he  had  so  often 
heard — the  commissioner  for  Virginia  in  the  treaty  of  Fort 
Stanwix— of  whom  the  Governor  of  New  York  declared 
that  "  the  earth  seemed  to  tremble  under  him  as  he  walked 
along." 

"  I  am  a  rough  backwoodsman,"  said  General  Lewis, 
"  and  make  few  protestations,  sir.  I  nevertheless  say  that 
I  like  your  face.  I'll  commission  you  without  further 
acquaintance.  If  his  lordship  objects,  it  will  not  move  me. 
If  he  does  not  like  me,  let  him  seek  another  commander  for 
the  forces.  You  will  rendezvous  at  Camp  Union,  otherwise, 
Fort  Savannah,  on  the  first  of  next  month,  which  is  near  at 
hand,"  and  General  Lewis  calmly  inserted  his  pipe  between 
his  lips,  and  commenced  smoking.*  After  some  more 
arrangements,  Mr.  St.  John  took  his  leave,  and  went  to  his 
lodgings. 

"Well,"  he  murmured,  as  he  stretched  himself  upon  the 
sofa,  "  that  is  the  first  step  toward  the  struggle  and  oblivion. 
If  a  tomahawk  or  a  bullet  interpose,  what  matter  ?  'T  is  the 
same,  for  the  end  will  be  reached." 

As  he  spoke,  Tom  Alston  entered,  and  his  friend  laid 
before  him  all  his  plans,  which  he  had  hitherto  concealed. 

*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXXVI. 


374  HEXKY    ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

To  paint  the  dismay  and  sorrow  of  honest  Tom  Alston  at 
this  mad  resolution,  as  he  called  it,  would  be  impossible. 
He  exhausted  his  strength,  and  grew  positively  hoarse  in  the 
attempt  to  change  the  resolution  of  his  friend. 

In  vain  did  he  protest,  however.  In  vain  he  declared 
that  the  state  of  things,  in  regard  to  Bonnybel,  could  not 
last — that  every  one  at  Vanely  had  as  perfect  an  affection 
for  him  as  at  any  previous  time.  In  vain  did  he  represent 
that  the  mystery  of  the  young  girl's  demeanor  could  not 
long  remain  unsolved,  and  that  a  single  word  would  show 
the  injustice  she  had  been  guilty  of — the  groundless  nature 
of  her  sudden  dismissal  of  her  lover. 

To  all  this,  the  young  man  opposed  either  gloomy  silence 
only,  or  the  words,  incessantly  repeated,  "  I  am  ruined,  I 
have  lost  all." 

Tom  Alston  returned  again  to  his  expostulations,  and 
used  every  possible  argument  to  prove  the  madness  of  his 
friend's  course.  The  family  at  Vanely  had  felt  the  greatest 
solicitude  about  his  illness  ;  had  only  been  prevented  from 
seeing  him  by  the  physician's  orders  ;  they  had  sent  all  the 
delicacies  which  were  so  grateful  to  him  in  his  convales 
cence  ;  the  girls  had  even  come  to  Williamsburg,  and  had 
stolen  into  his  chamber,  in  bis  sleep.  At  this,  the  young 
man  started  ;  and,  all  at  once,  the  vision,  as  he  had  consid 
ered  it,  flashed  on  his  mind,  and  a  look  of  wonder  greeted 
the  announcement  of  the  reality  of  the  appearance.  But  he 
was  no  more  convinced  than  before.  "  I  am  ruined,  I  have 
lost  all,"  was  all  that  his  friend  could  extract  from  him ; 
and,  after  three  hours  of  expostulation,  honest  Tom  Alston 
sank  back,  pale  and  exhausted,  and  gave  up  the  struggle. 

Two  days  afterward,  Mr.  St.  John  and  his  friend 
exchanged  a  silent  grasp  of  the  hand.  The  young  man 
mounted  his  horse,  and,  throwing  a  last  look  upon  the  win 
dow  through  which  she  had  shone  on  him,  like  a  vision  of 
the  night,  in  the  luminous  halo,  he  set  forward. 

As  before,  Tallyho  tossed  his  head,  and  careered  merrily 
along  ;  but  his  head  was  not  turned  toward  home. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  375 

Camp  Union,  or,  as  we  now  say,  Lewisburg,  was  the 
young  man's  destination  ;  and,  going  along,  not  smiling,  as 
before,  but  gloomy  and  despairing,  he  murmured  : 

"  A  tomahawk  or  bullet — 't  is  the  same !" 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

ON     THE     BANKS     OP     BELLE     RIVIERE. 

THE  aim  of  this  book  is  rather  to  show  what  led  to  our 
Revolution,  than  to  narrate  great  public  events ;  rather  to 
present  something  like  a  picture,  however  feeble  and  faint, 
of  the  state  of  society  which  preceded  the  struggle,  than  to 
follow  that  struggle  through  its  bloody,  but  triumphant 
steps,  from  Bunker  Hill  to  Yorktown. 

The  precursor  of  the  greater  contest  was  the  war  of  "74, 
which  is  now  known  as  "  Dunmore's  war,"  perhaps  on  the 
principle  of  Incus  a  non  lucendo,  for  he  did  not  fight  the  bat 
tle  which  began  and  ended  it. 

This  is  not  the  place  or  the  occasion  to  trace  the  details 
of  that  splendid  campaign,  if  we  may  call  it  such  ;  that  cam 
paign  in  which  the  Indian  dominion,  on  the  banks  of  "  la 
belle  riviere,"  the  Ohio,  was  leveled  at  a  blow,  and  the  fero 
cious  savage  driven  back  to  his  fastnesses. 

We  listen  with  dull  ears  to  the  old  frontier  story,  and  can 
not  believe  that  the  sweet  and  smiling  fields,  blooming  now 
with  the  fairest  flowers  of  peace,  were  once  the  battle  field 
on  which  the  Anglo-Saxons  opposed  a  merciless  enemy.  In 
our  comfortable  homes  to-day,  we  read  carelessly  the  old 
chronicle  which  clasps  in  its  embrace  such  bleeding  forms 
and  desolated  hearth-stones.  It  is  in  the  midst  of  peace  and 
plenty,  with  the  blessings  of  a  ripe  civilization  around  us, 
with  the  bright  eyes  and  cheeks,  and  the  laughter  of  happy 
children  at  our  side,  that  we  read  the  moving  story.  What 
does  it  say  ?  Let  an  incident,  similar  to  a  thousand  others, 


376  HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

and  no  worse,  tell  what  horrors  were  then  enacted  on  the 
border. 

"  An  Indian  seized  Mrs.  Scott,  and  ordered  her  to  a  par 
ticular  spot,  and  not  to  move ;  others  stabbed  and  cut  the 
throats  of  the  three  younger  childi*en,  in  their  bed,  and  af 
terwards  lifting  them  up,  dashed  them  upon  the  floor,  near 
the  mother ;  the  eldest,  a  beautiful  girl  of  eight  years  old, 
awoke,  escaped  out  of  the  bed,  ran  to  her  parent,  and,  with 
the  most  plaintive  accents,  cried,  '  O  !  mamma !  mamma ! 
save  me !'  The  mother,  in  the  deepest  anguish  of  spirit, 
and  with  a  flood  of  tears,  entreated  the  savages  to  spare  her 
child,  but,  with  a  brutal  fierceness,  they  tomahawked  and 
stabbed  her  in  her  mother's  arms." 

In  the  pages  of  Withers  and  Kercheval,  the  Commines 
and  the  Froissart  of  the  Valley,  we  read  all  this,  and  follow 
the  details  of  a  hundred  massacres — the  burning  of  houses, 
the  murder  of  men,  the  merciless  beating  out  of  women  and 
children's  brains  against  the  door  posts  of  the  dwellings  of 
the  West.  We  read  it  all,  and  then  close  the  chronicle,  and 
go  to  the  routine  of  business,  and  scarcely  give  a  thought  to 
the  men  who  prostrated  the  power  of  the  savage,  thus  dye 
ing  the  very  soil  with  the  best  blood  of  our  country. 

It  is  matter  of  rejoicing  to  all  who  admire  and  love  the 
great  hearts  of  the  past,  that  Virginia  has  finally  decreed 
recognition  of  the  claims  of  one  at  least  of  these  heroes  of 
the  border. 

The  names  of  Andrew  Lewis  and  his  noble  companions 
shine  like  stars  in  the  western  horizon.  Let  the  valiant  sol 
dier  stand  on  his  well-won  pedestal  in  the  capital  of  the  land 
•which  he  fought  for ;  let  the  children  of  to-day  and  the 
future  be  told,  that  long  ago,  when  the  sky  was  dark,  in 
old  years  which  they  do  not  remember,  this  stalwart  gentle 
man  and  his  brave  followers  opposed  their  broad  breasts  to 
the  flood  of  savage  cruelty,  and  stood  up  between  the  toma 
hawk  and  the  bosoms  from  which  the  present  generation 
drew  their  life.  Let  them  be  told  that  when  women  and 
children  were  cowering  before  a  foe  which  knew  no  mercy, 


IIENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  377 

this  man  and  his  companions  came  to  succor  them  ;  let  the 
names  of  those  who  came  from  the  bloody  fight  be  honored  ; 
let  the  memory  of  those  who  fell  be  perennial  in  the  nation's 
heart,  and  all  coming  generations  delight  to  honor  them. 

At  some  other  time  we  may  relate  the  "  old  and  moving 
story ;"  how,  entering  the  wilderness  at  the  head  of  his  no 
ble  army,  General  Lewis  reached  the  junction  of  the  Kana- 
wha  and  Ohio,  in  October,  and  how  there,  at  Point  Pleas 
ant,  on  the  banks  of  that  stream  which  was  called  "  belle 
riviere"  for  its  beauty,  he  defeated  the  combined  forces  of 
the  great  northern  nations. 

It  was  the  flower  of  the  Indian  tribes,  led  on  by  their 
most  celebrated  chiefs,  which  were  thus  routed.  Redhawk, 
the  renowned  Delaware,  Cornstalk,  the  greatest  of  the  Shaw- 
nees,  and  Ellinipsico,  the  "  Mountain  Deer,"  his  son ;  Scop- 
pathus,  the  Mingo ;  Chiyawee,  the  Wyandot,  and  Logan, 
the  last  of  the  Cayugas,  whose  mournful  speech,  in  reply  to 
Dunmore,  is  the  pearl  of  Indian  eloquence. 

At  sunset  on  the  10th  day  of  October,  the  Indian  power 
was  completely  broken,  and  the  tribes  were  flying  into  the 
forest. 

The  Virginians  returned  to  count  their  dead. 

Alas!  among  those  dead  ones  was  Charles  Lewis,  the 
brother  of  the  general,  one  of  the  colonels  of  the  expedition, 
and  beloved  by  all  for  his  courage  and  nobility. 

Receiving  in  his  heart  the  fatal  ball,  which  he  had  come 
from  such  a  distance  to  oppose  his  bresst  to,  he  fell  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree,  only  murmured  a  few  words,  and  expired  as 
the  soldiers  came  back  from  the  pursuit,  amid  the  tears  of 
his  companions,  and  his  brother.* 

It  was  not  only  this  valiant  gentleman  who  fell,  who  there, 
on  the  banks  of  the  great  stream,  breathed  his  last,  stiffen 
ing  in  the  arms  of  those  faithful  comrades,  who  wept  for 
him  and  held  him  on  their  bosoms.  The  bloody  foliage  of 
October  was  dyed  with  a  deeper  crimson,  and  the  waves  of 
"  la  belle  riviere"  were  stained  with  the  life  current  of  the 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXXVII. 


378  HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

noblest  hearts  of  the  land.  The  bright  waves  rolled  on,  the 
brilliant  sun  of  October  shone  on  forest  and  river,  the  stains 
disappeared,  and  the  birds  chirped  and  sang  where  the  vol 
leys  of  musketry  and  the  clash  of  arms  had  startled  the  si 
lence  of  the  woods.  But  that  blood  was  not  lost  in  the  im 
mensity  of  waters — that  crimson  stain  did  not  idly  imbrue 
the  soil  of  the  West.  It  fertilized  and  enriched,  not  the 
spot  where  it  feil  only,  but  the  whole  land,  east  and  west. 
Borne  along  through  the  length  of  the  land  to  the  dark 
waves  of  the  Gulf,  it  diffused  its  influence  wherever  it  flowed  J 
though  invisible,  and  swallowed  in  the  waste  of  waters,  it 
blazed  with  red  fires  before  the  eyes  of  the  country.  From 
the  earth  which  drank  it  sprang  the  bright  flowers  of  peace, 
and  the  golden  fruits  of  civilization.  Not  in  vain  thus  did 
they  bleed,  those  noble  hearts  of  the  old  border,  those  heroes 
of  western  and  eastern  Virginia.  To  him  who  writes,  all 
their  names  are  sacred.  The  sun  which  shone  down  on  their 
lifeless  bodies,  shines  more  brightly  now  because  they  fell. 
They  rolled  back  the  cloud  from  our  horizon,  and  in  that 
horizon,  now  calm  and  beautiful,  let  them  shine  as  the  stars 
for  ever ! 

General  Lewis  would  have  completed  the  extermination  of 
the  enemy  on  the  border,  and  driven  them  into  the  wilder 
ness  never  to  return  ;  but  here  he  was  opposed  by  his 
Excellency,  Lord  Dunmore. 

In  courts  of  la'w,  men  are  condemned  upon  circumstantial 
evidence,  and  hanged  for  the  crimes  thus  proven  on  them. 
Why  should  the  judge  of  historical  events  and  characters 
be  confined  within  narrower  bounds  ?  The  circumstantial 
evidence  which  connects  Lord  Dunmore's  name  with 
treachery,  and  the  most  horrible  schemes  excludes  every 
other  hypothesis  than  guilt,  and  has  long  since  gibbeted 
that  nobleman  in  the  popular  mind.  Some  day,  that  treach 
ery  will  be  established  by  irrefutable  documentary  proof. 

We  do  not  follow  in  detail  the  events  succeeding  the 
battle  of  Point  Pleasant,  to  show,  as  we  think  we  have  it 
in  our  power,  that  the  Governor  had  been  guilty  of  "  foul 


HENRY -ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  379 

play."  It  is  no  part  of  our  undertaking  to  bring  home  to 
him  a  particular  treason.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  General 
Lewis  was  sent  by  an  order  from  Lord  Dunmore,  who  was 
on  the  Sciota,  to  disband  his  forces  and  return. 

The  General  could  scarcely  believe  his  senses ;  and  for 
reply,  indignantly  refused.  He  resolutely  continued  his 
march,  and  finally  halted  within  three  miles  of  the  Gov 
ernor's  camp. 

Lord  Dunmore  was  at  the  head  of  his  own  army,  and 
yet  had  failed  to  come  to  Lewis's  assistance  at  Point  Pleas 
ant.  The  General's  men  were  very  much  inflamed  against 
his  Excellency,  as  the  event  which  followed  demonstrated. 
Most  truly  did  an  eye-witness  of  these  events  say  of  Dun- 
more  and  Conolly,  "  there  were  wheels  within  wheels,  dark 
things  behind  the  curtain  between  this  noble  earl  and  his 
sub-satellite." 

That  the  Virginians  under  General  Lewis  believed  as 
much,  is  very  plain. 

"  His  lordship,"  says  the  historian,  "  accompanied  by  the 
Indian  chief,  White-Eyes,  now  visited  the  camp  of  Lewis, 
and  he,  (according  to  some  relations)  with  difficulty  re 
strained  his  men  from  killing  the  Governor  and  his  Indian 
companion." 

But  we  trench  upon  history,  and  only  add  here,  that  the 
General  was  forced  to  obey.  With  a  heavy  heart,  and 
surrounded  by  men  who  thirsted  to  revenge  the  horrible 
cruelties  of  the  Indians  on  a  thousand  occasions,  General 
Lewis  bowed  to  the  command  of  his  superior  and  marched 
back  :  Lord  Dunmore  remained  to  perfect  his  schemes. 

He  returned  in  November  to  Wllliamsburg. 

Thus  ended  the  war  of  '74. 

It  had  demonstrated  to  the  minds  of  all  men  three  im 
portant  things. 

That  the  men  of  Virginia  were  ready  for  the  field  in  a 
moment,  and  too  stubborn  to  yield. 

That  the  struggle  of  the  Revolution  would  not  be  em 
barrassed  by  incursions  on  the  frontier. 


380  HENRY    6T.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

That  Lord  Dunmore  was  a  traitor  to  the  colony. 
This  was  what  "Dunmore's  war"  impressed  upon  the 
most  careless  and  unthinking. 


CHAPTER    LXX. 

THE     OLD     CHUBCH     OF     ST.     JOHN. 

IT  was  the  great  and  peculiar  good  fortune  of  Virginia  to 
have  thus,  for  the  last  of  her  governors,  when  the  storm 
was  first  lowering  on  the  horizon,  a  man  whose  whole 
conduct  revolted  completely  the  popular  mind — whose 
malignant  and  treacherous  disposition  and  action  united  all 
the  elements  of  revolution. 

Had  Fauquier  or  Botetourt  held  the  reins,  they  would, 
either  of  them,  been  the  last  whom  the  Virginians  would 
have  struck  at. 

Lord  Dunmore  was  now  their  first  enemy — their  prime 
hatred. 

With  the  spring  of  "75,  all  the  fruits  of  the  long  opposi 
tion  rapidly  matured.  In  the  electric  atmosphere,  as  in  a 
hot-house,  the  bloody  flower  of  revolution  began  rapidly  to 
expand  into  bloom ;  and  its  seeds  were  soon  scattered  far 
and  near,  wafted  on  the  sobbing  wind  which  heralded  the 
approaching  hurricane. 

The  general  congress  at  Philadelphia  had  risen  in  Octo 
ber  of  the  preceding  year — almost  at  the  moment  when 
Dunmore  was  endeavoring  to  perfect  his  treachery  on  the 
Sciota. 

They  had  agreed  on  a  petition  to  the  king — an  address 
to  the  people  of  Great  Britain — and  a  memorial  to  the  in 
habitants  of  the  colonies. 

But  the  great  result  of  this  congress  was  the  bond 
which  thenceforth  united  the  North  and  the  South.  The 
leaders  of  the  two  sections  saw  that  they  could  now  ad 
vance  with  the  certainty  of  cooperation. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  381 

The  delegates  of  Virginia  returned  home,  followed  by 
Dunmore  from  the  frontier ;  and  then  they  gave,  viva  voce, 
an  account  of  all  things  to  the  people. 

Around  one  of  these  delegates,  at  the  court  house  of  his 
county,  the  old  neighbors  gathered  and  made  him  describe 
the  whole  proceeding.  Then  they  asked  about  the  men 
who  formed  the  congress. 

Patrick  Henry  replied,  "  Colonel  Washington  was  un- 
questionbly  the  greatest  man  on  that  floor." 

The  spring  of  '75  opened  thus,  as  we  have  said,  with  a 
threatening  cloud,  and  that  murmur  which  precedes  the 
rising  of  the  masses,  as  it  is  the  precursor  of  the  storm. 

In  March,  the  second  Virginia  convention  met  at  the  old 
church  of  St.  John  in  Richmond  town,  crowning  to-day,  as 
it  then  did,  the  summit  of  the  hill,  from  which  the  eye 
embraces  the  city  below,  the  foaming  falls,  the  glittering 
current  of  the  river,  and  the  beautiful  expanse  of  field  and 
forest. 

Up  even  to  this  moment,  the  best  patriots  cast  a  longing 
look  behind  them  at  the  peaceful  fields  of  the  past,  and  tried 
to  close  their  eyes  to  the  events  rushing  forward  to  fulfill 
ment.  They  wished  to  avoid  that  terrible  conflict  which 
would  stain  the  earth  with  so  much  precious  blood.  They 
hesitated  and  doubted — resolving,  indeed,  that  the  gen 
eral  congress  had  done  well — that  the  warmest  thanks  of 
Virginia  were  justly  due  to  her  delegates  for  their  services 
— but  also  resolving  that  the  greatest  desire,  the  most 
ardent  aspiration  of  all  men  should  be,  for  the  "  speedy 
return  of  those  halcyon  days"  when  England  had  not  yet 
molested  them. 

Patrick  Henry  listened  in  silence  to  these  resolutions, 
bearing  the  stamp  of  the  doubt  and  indecision  of  every  one. 
He  said  nothing — waiting  for  the  proper  moment.  When 
that  time  had  come,  he  rose  and  moved  that  "  a  well- 
regulated  militia,  composed  of  gentlemen  and  yeomen,  was 
the  natural  strength  and  only  security  of  a  free  govern 
ment."  That  "the  establishment  of  such  militia  was  at 


382  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAX. 

that  time  peculiarly  necessary."  And  that  "  the  colony  be 
immediately  put  in  a  state  of  defense." 

The  resolutions  fell  like  a  thunderbolt.  After  the  first 
silence  of  astonishment,  a  dozen  members  of  the  convention 
sprung  to  their  feet  and  vehemently  opposed  them.  The 
burden  of  the  flood  of  impassioned  oratory  was  that  the 
resolutions  were  premature  and  impolitic — that  the  time 
had  not  come,  if  it  ever  was  to  come. 

It  was  then  that  the  great  prophet  of  revolution,  rising 
slowly  and  solemnly  from  his  seat,  delivered  that  speech 
which  is  a  part  of  the  classics  of  America. 

In  its  burning  sentences,  as  we  read  it  even  to-day,  the 
stormy  voice  of  the  orator  again  resounds ;  its  solemn  and 
august  periods  seem  to  blaze  and  flash  with  the  hidden  fires 
of  an  immense  genius,  a  gigantic  resolution.  It  strips  the 
husk  from  events,  and  defines  with  a  finger  of  iron  the 
exact  issue.  The  invisible  spirit  of  the  Revolution  informs 
it ;  like  an  avalanche  it  rolls  onward,  sweeping  away  all 
obstacles  to  the  comprehension  of  the  issue,  and  roaring 
like  the  ocean  in  its  passage. 

With  the  measui'ed  step  of  a  giant,  moving  slowly,  the 
orator  advanced  at  last  to  the  dividing  line — the  gulf  be 
tween  submission  and  revolution  : 

"  If  we  were  base  enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late 
to  retreat  from  the  contest !  Thei-e  is  no  retreat  but  in 
submission  and  slavery !  Our  chains  are  forged !  Their 
clanking  may  be  heard  on  the  plains  of  Boston !  The  war 
is  inevitable !  and  let  it  come  !" 

Then  with  both  arms  extended  aloft,  and  burning  eyes, 
"  I  know  not,"  he  said,  "  what  course  others  may  take ; 
but  as  for  me — give  me  liberty  or  give  me  death!" 

The  resolutions  were  adopted  without  a  dissenting  voice, 
their  policy  embraced,  and  the  convention  rose. 

Its  action  sent  a  thrill  of  satisfaction  through  the  whole 
of  Virginia,  and  in  three  weeks  the  popular  mind  was 
braced  for  the  contest. 

Everywhere  old  arms  were  hunted  up,  swords  burnished, 


HENRY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  383 

the  militia  was  organized,  and  only  a  match  to  fire  the  train 
was  required. 

Lord  Dunmore  applied  this  match  on  the  20th  of  April, 
by  removing  the  powder  from  the  old  magazine  in  Wil- 
liamsburg. 

But  let  us  not  anticipate. 


CHAPTER    LXXI. 
BONNYBEL'S    DREAM. 

AT  Yanely  all  is  bright  and  beautiful  again,  as  on  that 
morning  when  St.  John  and  Tom  Alston  cantered  to  the 
door,  together,  on  the  day  succeeding  Lady  Dunmore's 
entry. 

The  fine  season  of  May  has  nearly  come,  and  the  swal 
lows  twitter,  as  before ;  the  grass  is  full  of  flowers ;  the 
great  oaks  clothe  themselves  in  heavy  foliage,  through 
which  the  breezes  of  the  spring  pass,  as  it  were,  with  laugh 
ter.  In  the  beautiful  sunsets  and  the  golden  dawns,  the 
fine  old  mansion  raises  proudly  its  gray  walls,  and  looks 
down,  smiling,  on  the  fields  and  river,  as  before. 

Let  us  follow  one  of  the  curious  and  prying  rays  of  sun 
rise  into  a  chamber  of  the  mansion.  The  indiscreet  and 
careless  intruder,  as  though  weary  with  his  long  journey  of 
so  many  millions  of  miles,  falls  prostrate,  and  rests  tran 
quilly  upon  the  soft  hair  of  Bonnybel,  who  sleeps  beside  her 
sister. 

The  sisters  always  occupy  one  apartment  and  one  bed. 
It  was  always  so  in  their  childhood ;  they  retain  the  habit. 

Helen  is  awake,  but  lies,  as  it  were,  in  that  delightful 
state  of  semi-consciousness  which  is  such  a  luxury  to  the 
dreamer.  The  young  lady  dreams,  so  to.  speak,  though  she 
does  not  sleep.  From  this  reverie  she  is  aroused  by  what 
seems  a  sob  at  her  side. 


384  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

She  turns  her  head  quickly,  and  looks  at  her  sister. 

Bonnybel  lies  with  one  round  bare  arm  thrown  outside 
the  counterpane;  the  other  is  placed  beneath  her  head. 
Over  the  white  arm  fall  the  curls  of  her  soft  brown  hair, 
like  a  golden  ripple ;  for  the  vagrant  sunbeams  change  their 
hue,  and  make  them  shine. 

The  light  falls  on  the  beautiful  brow,  like  a  glory,  in  the 
pictures  of  Raphael  and  his  brethren.  It  never  fell  on  a 
purer  and  sweeter  face  ;  and,  lying  thus  enveloped  in  her 
snowy  night-dress,  close  buttoned  to  the  neck,  the  girl  is  a 
picture  of  modesty  and  loveliness. 

But  her  sleep  is  not  tranquil.  Some  sorrowful  dream 
seems  to  prey  upon  her.  Her  form  trembles  slightly,  and 
beneath  the  long  silken  lashes,  resting  on  her  cheeks,  large 
tears  flow  silently.  Helen  gazes  at  her.  The  form  of  the 
girl  again  shakes,  and  another  sob  escapes  from  the  half- 
parted  lips,  dying  away,  like  a  murmur,  in  the  silent 
chamber. 

Helen  gazes  at  her  sister  with  an  air  of  the  greatest 
solicitude  and  tenderness,  for  this  somewhat  stately  and 
reserved  girl  conceals  under  her  prim  exterior  a  warm  and 
affectionate  heart. 

All  at  once,  the  sleeping  girl  moves  painfully,  and,  with  a 
contraction  of  the  lips  which  indicates  great  suffering,  mur 
murs,  audibly, 

"  Oh,  no !  no !  Do  not  take  away  the  letter !  do  not 
take  away  the  letter !  Oh,  me !  oh,  me !"  and  a  passionate 
sob  breaks  from  the  girl's  lips,  followed  by  a  flood  of  tears, 
which  bathe  her  cheeks  and  neck, 

"Wake,  sister!"  cried  Helen,  laying  her  hand  on  the 
girl's  shoulder.  "  What  are  you  dreaming  of?  Wake  up !" 

Bonnybel  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked  dreamily  around 
her. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  sister  ?"  said  Helen.  "  You  were 
crying  and  sobbing  in  your  sleep.  Were  you  dreaming  ?" 

The  girl  passed  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  sighed 
deeply. 


HENEY   ST.   JOH]$r,  GENTLEMAN.  885 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured ;  "  I  believe  I  was.  Oh,  sister ! 
I  have  had  such  a  terrible  dream !"  and  Bonnybel  wiped 
her  wet  eyes,  and  half  rose  in  bed,  leaning  upon  her  elbow, 
and  looking  around  her.  , 

"  What  was  the  dream  ?"  asked  Helen.  "  It  must  have 
been  very  sorrowful." 

"  It  was,  sister.  Oh,  so  sorrowful !  I  thought  he  was 
dying  in  the  battle  with  the  Indians.  A  bullet  had  wounded 
him,  and  they  were  holding  him  upon  their  breasts  at  the 
foot  of  a  tree  by  the  great  river.  He  was  pale  and  bleed 
ing  !  oh,  sister !  so  pale  !  and  his  breast  was  all  bloody !" 

Bonnybel  sobbed  again,  as  she  spoke,  and  wiped  her  eyes 
with  her  fingers. 

"  They  opened  his  coat,  and  were  going  to  take  away  a 
letter — a  letter  I  wrote  him  long  ago,  which  saved  his  life 
once  !  Oh,  sister !  how  foolish  I  was  to  think  that  he  has 
that  letter  now !"  and  leaning  her  head  upon  the  fringed 
pillow  again,  the  girl  cried  silently. 

"Do n't  cry,  dear,"  said  Helen,  kissing  her.  "  You  must 
not  let  this  foolish  dream  disturb  you.  There  is  no  reason 
to  think  he  is  even  wounded." 

"  No,"  murmured  the  girl,  more  calmly ;  "  and  you  know 
I  am  nothing  to  him.  But  the  scene  was  so  vivid  that  I 
thought  it  real.  I  saw  every  thing  as  plainly  as  I  see  the 
mirror  there.  He  was  lying  on  the  grass  at  the  foot  of  a 
tall  elm  on  the  banks  of  a  river  which  flowed,  at  a  little 
distance,  in  the  sunshine.  The  sunshine  came  through  the 
boughs  of  the  elm,  and  fell  upon  his  forehead,  which  was 
very  pale.  A  man,  who  had  leaned  his  rifle  against  the 
tree,  was  holding  his  head  upon  his  breast,  and  opening  his 
bosom  where  he  was  wounded.  The  linen  was  all  covered 
with  blood,  and  his  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  breathed 
heavily.  Oh,  me  !  what  made  me  dream  so  ?  I  could  have 
died  when  I  saw  him !  I  thought  they  tried  to  take  away 
a  letter  from  his  bosom — one  of  my  letters — and  he  did  not 
seem  to  know  it.  He  was  looking  at  a  flower  which  grew 

17 


386  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

at  his  feet,  a  white  rose,  and  he  smiled  as  he  used  to  smile 
once  when — oh,  me  !  1  am  so  miserable  !" 

And  with  a  passionate  sob,  which  seemed  slowly  to  have 
gathered  in  her  breast,  as  she  had  gone  on,  the  girl  was 
silent,  her  bosom  shaken  with  sighs,  her  cheeks  wet  with 
large  tears  chasing  each  other  in  rapid  succession. 

Helen  put  an  arm  round  her  neck,  and  drew  toward  her 
the  trembling  form,  with  a  tenderness  which  betrayed  itself 
in  her  own  moist  eyes  and  sad  lips.  Then  resting  the  girl's 
head  upon  her  shoulder,  as  she  would  have  done  a  child's, 
she  pressed  her  lips  to  the  white  cheek,  and  smoothed  the 
disordered  mass  of  curls  from  the  brows  which  they  covered. 

"  Do  n't  cry,  dear,"  she  said,  soothingly  ;  "  you  must  not 
let  a  dream  aftect  you  so.  'Tis  only  a  dream,  and  you 
should  not  permit  it  to  cause  you  so  much  trouble.  You 
were  probably  thinking  of  the  battle  when  you  went  to  sleep, 
and  your  imagination  thus  carried  you  away." 

"  It  was  so  real !"  murmured  the  girl,  hiding  her  face  on 
her  sister's  shoulder,  with  a  sob. 

"  But  it  was  only  a  dream,"  continued  Helen.  "  Dreams 
are  merely  the  result  of  the  fancy  let  loose,  and  you  know 
the  old  saying,  that  they  always  '  go  by  contraries.'  If  there 
is  any  thing  in  your  dream,  it  proves  that  he  is  alive  and 
well." 

Bonnybel  only  sobbed,  making  no  reply. 

Helen  continued  to  soothe  and  talk  to  the  girl,  and  at  last 
the  tears  disappeared  from  the  pure  eyes,  and  a  sad  smile  lit 
up  the  innocent  features. 

"  "Well,  sister,"  said  Bonnybel,  at  last,  "  you  have  made 
me  feel  much  better,  and  I  will  not  permit  this  dream  to 
disturb  me  so.  After  all  he  is —  he  is  —  nothing  —  to  me. 
Well !  I  will  not  cry.  I  hope  he  is  happy,  and  's  forgotten 
me." 

A  last  tear  moistened  the  girl's  eyes,  and  she  was  silent, 
motionless,  in  the  arms  of  her  sister,  leaning  her  blushing 
face,  enveloped  by  the  soft  masses  of  brown  hair,  on  the 
shoulder  of  Helen. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  387 

An  hour  afterwards,  before  the  family  had  risen,  Bonny- 
bel  was  going,  through  the  fresh  light  of  morning,  on  her 
daily  expedition  to  the  "  quarters,"  followed  by  her  maid, 
bearing  the  accustomed  basket. 

Only  a  sad  and  pensive  smile  remained,  after  her  dream, 
and  she  was  tranquil  again,  for  she  had  prayed  for  him* 


CHAPTER   LXXII. 


BONNYBEL    VANE    TO     HER     FRIEND,     KATE     EFFINGHAM. 


,  18th  April,  1776. 

"  'T  is  so  long  since  I  've  written  to  my  Kate  that  she 
must  almost  have  forgotten  me.  But  you  will  not  think, 
my  dear,  that  this  silence  has  proceeded  from  forgetfulness  ; 
that  is  not  possible  toward  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world. 

"  I  have  been  unhappy,  and  when  I  'm  unhappy  I  can  not 
write.  Alas  !  my  Kate,  I  am  greatly  changed.  I  am  no 
more  merry  and  happy,  as  I  used  to  be.  Once  I  thought 
this  life  was  the  gayest  and  happiest  existence  imaginable  ; 
I  laughed  and  jested,  and  bade  defiance  to  gloom.  Now, 
all  's  gone  from  me.  I  only  sigh,  and  sometimes  I  go  away 
and  cry  for  hours.  You  know  the  cause  of  this  change. 

"  I  write  now  to  tell  you  that  I've  seen  him  again,  and 
oh  !  he  was  so  changed.  I  shall  proceed  to  tell  you  how 
the  interview  took  place.  In  pouring  my  pain  and  sorrow 
into  my  own  Kate's  ears,  I  may  relieve  my  bosom,  in  some 
degree,  of  the  cruel  pressure  I  experience. 

"  'T  was  this  morning,  at  the  '  quarters,'  in  Mammy  Liza's 
cabin.  I  woke  at  sunrise,  crying  from  a  bad  dream  I  had, 
in  which  I  saw  him  wounded  and  dying  in  a  great  battle 
with  the  Indians.  My  dream  was  so  vivid  that  when  sister 
shook  and  awoke  me,  I  was  sobbing  and  crying,  and  for  a 
long  time  I  could  not  get  over  the  impression, 


388  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

"  I  rose  and  dressed,  however,  and  went  on  my  customary 
rounds  to  see  the  sick,  returning,  as  my  habit  is,  by  Mammy 
Liza's  house. 

"  I  had  been  thinking  of  my  dream  and  of  him,  and  ap 
proached  the  cabin  with  my  head  bent  down,  gazing  ab 
sently  at  a  small  white  flower  I  held  in  my  hand — a  little 
rose,  such  as  I  'd  given  him  one  day,  when  we  went  together 
to  Jamestown  island — it  seems  centuries  now !  and  I  scarce 
realize  the  truth  that  I  am  the  Bonnybel  of  that  time.  But 
I  shall  not  stop  to  speak  of  that.  I  was  very  near  the  door 
of  Mammy  Liza's  house,  and  was  thinking  of  him,  as  I  do 
now  and  then,  when  I  heard  the  neigh  of  a  horse.  I  thought 
that  there  was  something  familiar  and  yet  strange  in  the 
sound,  and  looked  toward  the  spot  from  which  it  issued. 

"I  recognized  Tallyho,  his  horse,  in  an  instant;  and, 
when  I  turned  my  head  toward  the  cabin,  he  stood  before 
me.  Oh,  me !  he  was  so  thin  and  pale.  Oh,  Kate !  you 
can  not  conceive  what  a  change  had  taken  place  in  his  ap 
pearance.  Formerly,  he  had  been  so  strong  and  handsome ; 
his  cheeks  so  ruddy,  and  his  lips  and  eyes  so  laughing  and 
full  of  joyous  pride  when  he  raised  his  noble  head  and 
looked  at  you  with  that  beautiful  smile  of  such  extraor 
dinary  sweetness.  My  heart  bleeds  as  I  describe  the  change ; 
now  the  color  had  all  disappeared  from  his  face ;  his  eyes 
were  dim  and  sunken,  as  after  illness ;  his  cheeks  white 
and  thin,  and  the  hand  which  he  leaned  on  Mammy  Liza's 
spinning-wheel  was  like  a  ghost's !  His  dress  looked  travel- 
worn,  and  his  left  arm  was  supported  by  a  scarf,  of  some 
Indian  fabric,  passed  around  his  neck.  He  was  but  the 
shadow  of  himself,  and  when  he  looked  at  me  with  a  slight 
tinge  of  color  in  his  cheek  and  a  sad  surprise,  inexpressibly 
sorrowful,  I  would  have  burst  into  tears,  and  cried  myself 
weak,  had  not  I  placed  a  violent  constraint  upon  myself. 
As  I  found  afterward,  he  had  been  talking  with  Mammy 
Liza  for  nearly  two  hours,  and  thus  he  must  have  ridden  to 
Vanely  in  the  night.  Mammy  Liza  was  crying  and  fixing 
her  spindle,  stopping  every  moment  to  wipe  her  old  eyes, 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  389 

and  muttering,  '  My  child !  my  own  child !'  in  such  an 
affecting  way  that  I  could  scarcely  restrain  my  sobs.  I  give 
way  to  them  now  as  I  write.  These  blots  upon  the  paper 
are  tears. 

"  He  stood,  for  a  moment,  looking  at  me  so  sadly  that  it 
made  my  heart  ache  and  my  throat  feel  as  if  it  were  chok 
ing.  He  then  took  from  the  left  breast  of  his  doublet  an  old 
letter,  and,  with  an  inclination  of  courtesy — yes,  simple 
courtesy — held  it  toward  me.  It  was  the  very  letter  I  had 
seen  the  soldier  try  to  take  from  his  breast  when  I  saw  him 
dying  in  my  dream,  and  the  wound  was  now,  apparently,  in 
his  shoulder,  really,  as  I  had  dreamed  it.  How  strange! 
For  a  moment  I  stood  looking  at  him  with  tears  in  my  eyes, 
and  he  continued  to  hold  the  letter  toward  me. 

"  I  saw  that  he  would  hold  it  thus  until  I  took  it,  and 
that  the  exertion'  was  making  him  weaker.  I  unconsciously 
received  it,  and  then  holding,  for  a  moment,  in  his  own, 
Mammy  Liza's  hand,  he  inclined  before  me  again  with  a 
long,  penetrating  look,  passed  by  me  like  a  shadow,  and 
thus,  with  his  pale  face  turned  over  his  shoulder,  as  it  were, 
he  mounted  his  horse,  and  was  lost  in  the  woods.  He  had 
never  spoken — I  had  not  heard  his  voice  ! 

"  I  can  write  but  little  more,  Kate ;  I  feel  faint  and 
badly.  This  interview  has,  since  the  morning,  preyed  upon 
my  spirits  ;  and  I  have  vainly  sought  to  relieve  my  distress 
by  writing  to  you.  It  seems  only  to  have  opened  the  wound 
afresh.  I  remained  with  Mammy  Liza  until  a  message 
came  that  breakfast  was  ready,  but  I  could  not  extract  from 
her  any  thing,  scarcely.  She  only  wrung  her  hands,  and 
muttered,  '  My  child !  my  own  child  !'  in  a  manner  that 
nearly  broke  my  heart ;  and  I  finally  came  away,  and  have 
come  here  to  my  chamber  now  to  hide  my  red  eyes. 

"  Can  you  explain  the  strange  fact  of  my  dream  ?  He 
was  clad  just  as  I  saw  him,  and,  lying  before  me,  is  the  let 
ter  which  I  dreamed  they  wished  to  take  from  him.  As  he 
gave  it  to  me  he  looked  intently  at  the  white  flower  in  my 
hand,  and  I  think,  as  he  went  away,  and  the  letter  fell  at  rny 


390  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

feet,  he  remembered — oh,  me !  my  memory  is  my  chief 
wretchedness ! 

"  Oh,  Kate  !  if  I  could  only  lay  my  head  tipon  your  bosom, 
and  cry  myself  to  rest  there  !  This  meeting  has  made  me 
ill,  and  I  feel  as  though  I  was  going  to  faint. 

"Was  I wrong  in  the  past?  Answer  me,  Kate:  Was 
I  wrong  f  Could  I  so  command  my  feelings  as  to  prevent 
the  terrible  change  in  our  relations  ?  I  ask  the  question 
with  inexpressible  anguish.  Oh,  tell  me,  Kate !  was  I 
wrong  ? 

"  I  know  not,  but  I  do  know  that  I  'm  miserable !  His 
old  affection  is  mine  no  longer ;  he  bowed  with  common 
courtesy  alone.  Wo  is  me  that  the  day  should  ever  come  ! 

"  I  can  not  write  more.  The  words  swim  in  tears,  and 
I  'm  blinded  by  them.  Farewell. 

"  BONNTBEL. 

"  P.  S. — My  maid  comes  to  say  that  Mr.  Lindon  is  below. 
I  have  sent  word  down  that  I  desire  to  be  excused.  His 
very  appearance  is  hateful  in  my  eyes !  May  Heaven  for 
give  my  sinful  feelings !" 


CHAPTER  LXXIII. 

THE     FBI  ENDS. 

ON  the  day  after  the  meeting  between  the  young  man 
and  Bonnybel,  two  men,  well  mounted,  rode  slowly  out  of 
Gloucester  street  in  a  western  direction. 

These  men  were  Tom  Alston  and  St.  John. 

The  purple  light  of  evening  lit  up  the  two  forms  clearly, 
and  the  young  lady  had  accurately  described  the  appear 
ance  of  her  former  lover.  Mr.  St.  John  was  but  the  ghost 
of  himself.  Since  those  bright  and  happy  days  when  in 
haling  the  breath  of  love  and  living  a  life  full  of  splendid 
and  joyful  emotions — since  those  hours  at  Vanely,  which 
now  seemed  to  have  shone  for  him,  in  the  long  past  years  of 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  391 

centuries  that  had  fled,  the  young  man  appeared  to  have 
become  another  being — to  have  changed  the  very  founda 
tions  of  his  identity. 

His  cheek  was  no  longer  ruddy  and  firm ;  his  eyes  no 
longer  filled  with  mirth,  dancing  in  the  joyful  light  of  love 
and  merriment.  Pale,  silent,  with  a  tranquil  sadness  in  his 
face,  he  was,  truly,  but  the  phantom  of  himself. 

Tom  Alston  was  the  same  nearly  as  before,  though  some 
what  more  subdued,  and  as  the  two  friends  rode  along,  he 
gazed  at  Mr.  St.  John  with  an  air  of  the  deepest  regret  and 
compassion. 

The  young  man  had  been  speaking  of  the  events  which 
had  taken  place  since  he  had  parted  with  his  friend.  He 
had  told  how  the  army  of  General  Lewis  left  Lewisburg; 
how  they  passed  rapidly  through  the  wilderness ;  how  they 
fell  upon  the  enemy  at  Point  Pleasant,  and  how  that  enemy 
was  defeated  and  put  to  rout.  In  his  picturesque  narrative, 
in  his  sad  but  vivid  story,  characters  and  events  rose  vivid 
ly  before  his  auditor,  and  thus  going  along  quietly  in  the 
bright  evening,  he  related,  incident  by  incident,  the  history 
of  his  adventures  and  his  misfortunes. 

"  It  was  near  the  end  of  the  battle  that  I  received  this 
wound,"  said  the  young  man,  indicating  his  left  shoulder, 
"and  'tis  not  yet  entirely  healed.  Colonel  Lewis,  the 
brother  of  the  General,  and  myself  were  fighting  side  by 
side,  and  I  think  we  fell  at  nearly  the  same  moment.  A 
nobler-hearted  gentleman  ne'er  lived,  and  the  whole  army 
wept  for  him,  and  carried  him  to  his  grave  with  a  sad  tri 
umph  which  I'll  never  forget.  But  to  return  to  myself, 
friend.  I  was  fighting  as  I  said,  when  suddenly  I  felt  what 
seemed  to  be  a  red-hot  iron  pierce  my  breast,  and  then  the 
wild  battle,  with  its  shouts  and  yells,  its  whistling  bullets 
and  dim  canopy,  all  disappeared.  I  fainted,  and  when  I  re 
turned  to  my  senses,  I  was  lying  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  sup 
ported  upon  the  breast  of  a  companion.  They  had  opened 
my  bosom,  and  were  probing  the  wound,  and  I  saw  the  bul 
let  when  it  was  extracted.  A  little  white  flower  I  remem- 


392  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

ber  grew  at  my  feet,  and  I  gazed  at  it,  as  my  head  drooped 
forward.  It  seemed  to  me  familiar,  and  I  >ve  since  recog 
nized — but  that  is  nothing.  It  is  very  strange  !  Well,  well, 
some  other  tim<3,  friend,  I  will  tell  you  the  rest  of  our  cam 
paign — how  the  General,  at  my  request,  had  me  borne  on  a 
litter,  by  his  side,  to  the  spot  where  he  halted  near  the  camp 
of  Dunmore.  The  General,  after  a  stormy  scene,  was  obliged 
to  retreat,  and  changing  my  former  plan  of  going  down  Belle 
Riviere  to  Natchez,  I  returned  with  him  to  Botetourt.  The 
exertion  had  irritated  my  wound,  and  all  the  winter  I  was 
confined  with  it,  receiving  from  the  General  such  kindness 
as  I  never  shall  forget.  You  see  this  man  is  a  nobleman  of 
nature,  a  great-hearted  gentleman,  whose  name  will  live  on 
the  page  of  our  Virginia  story  when  the  vulgar  name  of 
Dunmore  has  been  forgotten. 

"  So  ends  my  story,"  said  the  young  man,  calmly ;  "  you 
see,  Tom,  I  have  come  back  to  the  spot  which  I  left,  a  poor 
wounded  soldier,  with  my  heart  wounded  worse  than  my 
frame.  Perhaps  't  would  be  better  for  me  to  die  here ;  but 
that,  I  think,  won't  be.  I  tarry  for  a  moment  only  on  my 
way,  to  exchange  a  passing  grasp  of  the  baud  with  yourself 
and  my  other  friends.  In  a  week  I  go  on  my  path  to  the 
old  world,  there  to  seek  oblivion.  From  that  continent  I 
shall  never  return.  It  is  not  my  fault.  I  thought  my  life 
would  be  happy,  and  assuredly  it  opened  with  rare  promise, 
surrounded  as  I  was  by  the  old,  loving  faces,  and  especially 
by  that  which — well,  well !  Let  me  not  open  my  wound, 
which  is  healing,  I  think.  All  is  ended  there,  and  I  blame 
uo  one.  It  is  over  simply,  and  I  go  on  my  way." 

It  was  thus  that  the  young  man  ended  his  story — smiling 
tranquilly  and  gazing  upon  the  sunset. 

For  a  time,  Mr.  Alston  remained  silent  and  sad,  with  the 
accents  of  his  friend  still  echoing  in  his  ears.  Then  he  raised 
his  head,  uttered  a  deep  sigh,  and  said, 

"  Harry,  I  think  I  am  growing  old." 

"  How  is  that  ?"  said  St.  John ;  "  you  are  young  both  in 
years  and  character.". 


HENEY  ST.   JOKST,   GEHTLEMAH.  393 

Mr.  Alston  shook  his  head. 

"  A  man  lives  rather  in  thought  than  in  years,"  he  said  : 
"  a  trite  maxim.  I  mean,  Harry,  that  between  last  year  and 
to-day  a  great  gulf  seems  to  have  been  thrown  for  me,  and 
I  add  that 't  is  you  who  have  opened  it." 

"  I  am  sorry — I  can  not  help  it.  Do  not  let  my  griefs 
trouble  you." 

"I  must,"  said  honest  Tom  Alston,  with  feeling;  "I  can 
not  prevent  it.  Why  will  you  thus  cling  to  a  delirium  ? 
Why  ruin  yourself  for  a  chimera  ?" 

"  A  chimera  ?" 

"  Yes,  Harry,  it  is  even  worse  !  You  think  that  young 
girl  is  faithless  to  you." 

"  Do  not  use  the  word  faithless,"  said  St.  John,  with  tran 
quil  sadness. 

"  What  then  shall  I  say  ?» 

"  Say  that  I  am  unfortunate  ;  that  she  is  not  to  blame — 
only  changeable,  like  women — even  the  best  of  them." 

"  No,  I  say  that  there  is  some  mystery  in  this  affair  which 
must  be  cleared  up." 

"  Some  mystery  ?" 

"  Assuredly — oh !  most  assuredly.  What  it  is  I  can  not 
say — but  I  stake  my  life  upon  the  fact." 

Mr.  St.  John  gazed  at  him  with  sad  surprise. 

"  You  're  a  good  friend,  Tom,"  he  said  ;  "  you  are  faithful 
to  the  end,  and  I  thank  you.  But  you  convince  me  not  at 
all.  You  told  me  that  you  had  made  every  effort  to  dis 
cover  this  mystery — that  you  were  constantly  repulsed — 
that  she  would  tell  you  nothing,  always  turning  the  conver 
sation  or  retiring.  Nought  remains." 

"  Why  not  go  yourself?" 

"I  would  not!"  said  St.  John  haughtily ;  then  with  a 
sorrowful  smile,  "  I  ought  not  to,"  he  added.  "  You  tell 
me  yourself,  Tom,  that  the  family  at  Vanely  no  longer 
think  of  me  ;  well,  were  I  to  go  thither,  I  should  cause 
them  to  think  of  me  with  bitterness — perhaps  to  insult  me. 
No,  no !  'tis  better  as  it  is.  I  shall  bid  them  farewell  in 

17* 


394  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

a  letter,  when  no  word  shall  indicate  my  sense  of  their 
seeming  injustice,  and  then  I  shall  go  away,  never  to 
return." 

"  And  break  Tier  heart !" 

St.  John  shook  his  head. 

"  The  time  for  such  a  thing  is  past,"  he  said,  "  she  no 
longer  thinks  of  me.  Some  one  has  long  since  filled  my 
place  in  her  affections.  Do  you  think  I  blame  her  ?  Alas ! 
I  do  not.  I  am  simply  miserable.  I  blame  no  one.  I  am 
much  changed.  I  say  that  human  nature  is  weak — that 
the  strongest  heart  is  feeble — that  God  has  made  women 
fallible  like  men.  I  think  she  loved  me  once — with  her 
whole  heart  I  then  thought,  and  for  ever.  Well,  she  was 
a  woman,  and  at  best  they  are  but  women.  My  prayers 
and  blessing  will  always  follow  her ;  but  we  meet  no  more 
on  this  earth,  Tom." 

And  Mr.  St.  John  made  a  movement  with  his  hand  which 
indicated  a  desire  on  his  part  that  the  subject  should  be 
abandoned. 

Tom  Alston  sighed  and  yielded.  That  honest  heart  was 
pained  by  the  despair  of  his  friend  ;  and  in  the  conflict 
with  the  settled  sadness  of  Mr.  St.  John,  he  gave  way  and 
said  nothing  more. 

Mr.  St.  John  had  not  spoken  of  the  visit  to  Mammy 
Liza's  cabin ;  for  that  encounter  had  produced  a  more 
powerful  effect  upon  his  feelings  than  he  cared  to  own. 
The  sight  of  her  pale  white  face,  her  haunting  eyes,  her 
thin  form — this  sad  vision  had  left  him  strangely  affected, 
and  he  had  ridden  slowly  back  to  Williamsburg,  musing 
gloomily.  They  had  met  but  for  a  moment,  yet  in  that 
instant  all  the  past  had  seemed  to  rush  upon  him  again, 
with  its  smiles  and  happiness,  its  joy  and  beauty.  As  he 
gave  her  the  letter  which  had  saved  his  life,  as  he  looked 
at  the  flower  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  as  he  took  in  at 
a  glance  all  the  details  of  that  countenance,  toward  which 
his  heart  still  turned,  as  the  Chaldean  turns  to  his  star,  his 
resolution  had  almost  melted— his  strength  had  nearly 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  395 

given  way  as  he  bowed  to  her,  it  had  required  all  his  self- 
control  not  to  seize  her  thin  hand  and  press  it  to  his  trem 
bling  lips,  and  moisten  it  with  his  tears. 

He  had  not  done  so,  he  had  only  bowed  and  came  away ; 
and  now  he  was  more  sad  than  before,  almost  yielding  to 
his  emotion,  and  uttering  a  groan  as  he  finally  bade  adieu 
to  all  his  hopes  and  his  love. 

They  went  on  silently  thus  in  the  sunset,  and  soon  came 
in  front  of  a  cottage  embowered  in  foliage  and  flowers.  It 
was  Roseland. 

Blossom  played  as  of  old  upon  the  grassplat ;  and,  as  she 
recognized  her  friend,  the  child's  face  filled  with  blushes  of 
happiness,  and  she  ran  toward  him. 

"  Let  us  dismount  a  moment,  Tom,"  said  St.  John,  "  I 
must  not  neglect  my  friends." 

As  he  spoke,  the  young  man  affixed  the  bridle  of  his 
horse  to  the  fence,  and  accompanied  by  Tom  Alston,  slowly 
entered  the  grounds  of  the  cottage. 

Blossom  had  for  visitor,  her  friend  and  admirer,  Paul 
Eifingham,  Esquire — and  this  young  gentleman  now  aban 
doned  an  immense  pile  of  flowers  which  he  was  weaving 
into  a  garland,  intended  to  encircle  Miss  Blossom's  shoul 
ders  and  waist,  to  come  and  welcome  his  friends. 

He  shook  hands  with  Mr,  St.  John  and  Mr.  Alston  with 
great  good  feeling,  and  with  an  impressive  air  asked  them 
how  they  were. 

As  for  Blossom,  she  held  Mr.  St.  John's  other  hand 
tightly,  looking  sadly  into  his  thin  pale  face,  and  seemed  to 
prefer  that  gentleman's  society  to  her  admirer's. 

St.  John  looked  at  the  child  with  a  smile  which  was  not 
so  sad.  Blossom  had  increased  considerably  in  stature,  and 
was  now  almost  as  tall  as  Mr.  Paul  Eifingham.  She  might 
now  have  stood  on  the  base  of  Lord  Botetourt's  statue, 
and  clasped  that  good  nobleman's  waist  instead  of  his 
knee,  and  omitted  entirely  the  ceremony  of  kneeling  on 
the  shoulder  of  her  devoted  cavalier. 

"  And  how  have  you  been  this  long,  long  time,  my  child  ?" 


396  HENEY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

said  St.  John,  caressing  kindly  the  soft  hair.  "  I  see  that 
the  blossom  is  as  bright  as  ever  on  your  cheek.  You  are 
happy  and  well,  are  you  not,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  child,  "  I  am  very  well  indeed,  but — 
but — I  am  not  happy,  I  think — " 

"Pray  why?" 

Blossom  was  silent  a  moment,  gazing  sadly  on  the  thin 
face  of  her  friend. 

"  I  am  grieved  because  you  look  pale  and  unhappy,"  she 
murmured ;  "  something  grieves  you ;  won't  you  tell  me 
what  it  is  ?" 

St.  John  smiled  sadly  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Am  I  changed  ?"  he  said. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir !  when  you  were  here  before  you  looked 
stronger  and  brighter." 

"  That  was  because  the  sun  was  rising  for  me,  Blossom. 
Since  then  my  day  has  passed.  It  is  setting  now." 

And  St.  John  gazed  calmly  on  the  great  orb  sinking  in  the 
forest. 

"  I  understand  you,"  said  the  child,  in  a  low  voice,  "  you 
are  not  happy.  But  you  know  the  sun  will  rise  again  to 
morrow." 

The  young  man  looked  at  the  child,  as  she  spoke,  with 
an  air  of  such  hopeless  sadness,  that  the  tears  rushed  to  her 
eyes.  He  saw  them,  and  was  pained  at  her  pain. 

"  There,  there,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  do  n't  cry,  for  you  dis 
tress  me.  See,  I  smile,  and,  who  knows  ?  when  I  come 
again  I  may  be  laughing.  Paul  has  finished  your  garland. 
See,  he  hands  it  out  to  you." 

And  taking  the  wreath  of  flowers,  he  put  it  around  her 
shoulders.  Then  he  pressed  the  child's  hand  and  bade  her 
good  bye,  with  a  request  that  she  would  tell  her  father  of 
his  visit. 

The  friends  returned  to  Williamsburg,  and  parted  with  a 
close  grasp  of  the  hand,  and  an  appointment  to  meet  again 
on  the  morrow. 

"The  sun  may  rise  again,"  murmured  St.  John,  as  he 


HENEY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  397 

sought  his  lodgings,  "  and  the  flowers  may  blossom  again, 
but  my  sunshine  and  flowers  are  all  gone.  So  be  it !  A  few 
heavy  years,  some  more  pain  and  heart-burning — then  I  '11 
sleep." 


CHAPTER   LXXIY. 

THE   REMOVAL  OF  THE   POWDEK. 

IT  was  nearly  midnight,  and  St.  John  was  standing  list 
lessly  on  the  door-step  of  the  house  he  occupied,  when  rais 
ing  his  eyes,  he  saw  the  glimmer  of  a  light  in  the  tall  tower 
where  the  stranger  pursued  his  labors. 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  soon  made  up  his  mind. 
He  slowly  set  forward  toward  the  light. 

He  quickly  reached  the  house,  and  ascended  the  winding 
stair-case.  The  stranger  awaited  him,  with  outstretched  hand, 
on  the  threshold; 

"  Welcome,  friend,"  said  the  worker,  who  was  clad  as  be 
fore  in  his  somber  black  dress,  "  welcome  back  to  the  cap 
ital.  I  was  waiting  for  you,  and  knew  your  footstep." 

St.  John  returned  the  iron  grasp  of  the  slender  hand,  and 
took  the  seat  which  was  offered  him. 

"  You  awaited  me  ?"  he  said  ;  "  how  is  that  ?  Did  you 
then  know  of  my  arrival  ?" 

"  Three  days  before  you  .came  I  expected  you.  As  you 
know,  I  have  many  correspondents,  and  I  heard  of  your 
journey  from  three  sources — but  first  from  General  Lewis." 

And  the  stranger  touched  a  letter  lying  upon  the  top  of 
an  enormous  pile  similar  to  it. 

St.  John  nodded. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  "  and  it  will  make  an  account  of  my 
sickness  unnecessary ;  perhaps  I  need  not  even  speak  of  my 
adventures  on  the  border." 

"  It  is  useless,  I  may  as  well  say  frankly.    I  know  all  that 


898  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

happened  to  you — your  wound,  your  journey  in  the  litter, 
your  return.  My  correspondent  gave  me  every  detail." 

St.  John  nodded  again. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  so  I  come  back.  You  see  I  have  not 
carried  out  my  plan  of  going  down  Belle  Riviere  and  the 
Mississippi.  I  go  to  Europe  by  the  eastern  route." 

And  St.  John  sat  down  opposite  the  stranger.  That  per 
sonage,  for  some  reason,  did  not  seem  disposed  to  combat 
the  resolution  of  his  companion  ;  he  did  not  reply  even  to 
his  last  observation.  He  remained  motionless  for  a  moment, 
leaning  his  pale  face  on  his  hand,  and  then  taking  a  letter 
from  a  drawer,  carefully  read  it.  He  then  returned  it,  and 
said, 

"  Well,  friend,  we  won't  discuss  your  movements  at  pres 
ent  ;  the  future  can  take  care  of  itself.  Let  us  converse  as 
friends.  You  seem  sad,  and  are  very  pale." 

"  As  you  know,  I  have  been  sick." 

"Yes." 

"  And  as  you  do  not  know,  my  character  is  changed." 

"  I  know  that  too." 

St.  John  looked  at  the  stranger. 

"  How  ?"  he  said. 

"  Friend,"  said  his  companion,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
and  gazing  thoughtfully  at  Mr.  St.  John,  "  to  an  eye  so  prac 
ticed  as  my  own,  't  is  not  a  difficult  thing  to  penetrate  that 
calmness  which  envelops  grief  and  hopelessness.  You  are 
no  longer  the  gay  cavalier ;  you  are  the  thoughtful  man  of 
sorrow." 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  St.  John,  "  I  am  as  much." 

"  You  have  yielded  in  the  conflict  with  despair." 

"  I  am  calm." 

"  I  see.  That  is  just  what  I  say.  You  retire  from  all 
struggles  henceforth — you  seek  merely  oblivion." 

"  You  read  my  heart,  friend,"  said  the  young  man, 
gloomily. 

"  I  know  I  do,  and  I  say  to  you  that  your  resolution  is 
unworthy  of  a  brave  man !" 


HENTtY   ST.   JOHN",    GENTLEMAN.  399 

St.  John  nodded. 

"  So  be  it,"  he  said  ;  "  I  am  no  longer  brave." 

"  That  may  be,  but  you  have  your  duty,  and  you  shrink 
from  it." 

"  What  duty  ?" 

"  The  struggle  with  wrong." 

St.  John  said  nothing  for  some  minutes ;  then,  raising  his 
head : 

"  Do  you  know,  friend,"  he  said,  "  that  life  no  longer  af 
fects  me — its  sorrows  or  joys,  or  good  or  evil  ?  If  I  were 
not  a  stoic  I  should  be  an  epicurean.  Let  society  go  its 
ways ;  it  does  not  concern  me.  I  do  not  deny  that  once  I 
thought  differently,  but  opinions  often  change  as  we  grow 
older.  As  for  me,  my  strength  is  quite  broken.  I  could  not, 
if  I  would,  enter  the  contest." 

He  was  silent,  and  the  stranger  seemed  to  acquiesce  in  his 
plain  wish  to  change  the  subject.  He  made  a  slow  and  meas 
ured  movement  with  his  head,  and  replied, 

"  So  be  it ;  but  you  may  yet  change  your  views.  Events 
are  now  on  the  brink  of  an  abyss,  into  which  we  '11  all  be 
plunged.  The  revolution  rushes  on,  and  to-morrow  may 
be  a  day  of  history." 

"  To-morrow  ?" 

"  I  mean  any  day  now,  for  the  storm  is  about  to  burst ! 
You  have  been  away,  and  do  not  know  how  the  country 
speaks  of  Dunmore,  how  the  minds  of  men  have  been  strid 
ing  on  toward  the  battle  field.  Within  the  year  which  ends 
next  month,  the  North  American  provinces  have  advanced 
toward  rebellion  with  far  greater  rapidity  than  within  the 
entire  ten  years  preceding.  In  '65,  as  I  have  before  said, 
the  seeds  of  revolution  were  scattered  broadcast  by  the 
voice  of  Patrick  Henry  ;  well,  in  these  ten  years  they  have 
been  ripening,  now  they  burst  into  the  air.  In  May  of  last 
year,  as  you  remember,  the  Boston  Port  bill  was  passed,  and 
you  were  witness  of  the  effect  which  it  produced  upon  the 
Burgesses  and  upon  the  people.  That  outrage  brought  forth 
the  general  congress,  which  Virginia  proposed  six  days  be- 


400  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

fore  Massachusetts,  though  it  was  also  original  with  the  men 
of  the  North,  since  no  communication  could  have  taken  place. 
That  congress  met  at  Philadelphia  ;  the  Virginia  convention 
also  met  last  month,  in  the  old  church  where  we  first  came 
together,  when,  as  you  will  recollect,  I  was  looking  at  the 
edifice  with  this  very  thing  in  view.  The  general  congress 
spoke  boldly,  but  the  Virginia  convention  struck  the  face  of 
royalty  with  its  gauntlet !  It  was  the  voice  of  Patrick  Henry 
which  resounded  again,  for  he  saw  that  the  time  had  come !" 

"  Yes,"  said  St.  John. 

"  It  was  Dunmore  himself,"  continued  the  stranger,  with 
gloomy  pleasure ;  "  it  was  Dunmore  who  placed  his  shoulder 
to  the  car  which  will  finally  crush  him  !  And  here  see  the 
wondrous  ways  of  Providence !  the  proof  that  all  men  are 
puppets  in  an  invisible  hand !  At  the  moment  when  the 
general  congress  rose  in  Philadelphia,  this  man  Avas  plotting 
treachery  upon  the  Sciota !  He  thought  that  he  was  band 
ing  the  savages  against  Virginia  in  silence  and  secrecy ;  he 
was  only  arousing  more  violently  the  popular  fury.  Every 
letter  from  the  camp  of  General  Lewis  made  the  waters  of 
revolution  boil  and  foam  more  angrily !  A  popular  idea  for 
the  crisis  was  needed,  an  especial  treason  on  the  part  of  the 
government.  Dunmore  went  a  thousand  miles  through  the 
wilderness  to  supply  it !  He  is  the  true  author  of  the  strug 
gle  about  to  burst ;  his  treachery  will  bear  Dead  Sea  fruits  ; 
by  him  the  discordant  elements  are  combined  ;  before,  there 
was  dissension  and  difference,  but  now  there  is  none.  The 
phalanx  moves  forward,  fully  armed  and  in  order  !" 

The  stranger  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  continued. 

"  You  may  not  fully  realize  as  I  do,  friend,"  he  said,  "  the 
full  meaning  of  those  words,  '  discordant  elements.'  Listen, 
however,  and  I  think  I  can  tell  you  what  they  signify.  The 
society  of  Virginia  is  essentially  composite — made  up  of  a  va 
riety  of  classes.  To  ascertain  the  character  of  these  classes, 
to  analyze  the  elements  which  will  enter  into  the  struggle' 
before  us — this  has  long  been  my  study  and  my  passion.  A 
poor  engineer,  but,  delegated  to  touch  the  fuse,  it  has  been 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  401 

my  great  subject  of  investigation,  the  nature  and  the  prop 
erties  of  this  splendid  ordnance  which  will  batter  down  the 
walls  of  royalty  in  America,  sending  its  roar  of  triumph  over 
the  ruins ! 

"  In  Virginia,  then,  there  are  twenty  different  classes — 
from  the  indented  servant  who  toils  on  the  glebe,  and  the 
fisherman  who  sleeps  in  the  sunshine,  to  the  great  landed 
proprietor  who  rolls  by  in  his  coach,  and  lives  like  a  feudal 
baron  on  his  splendid  estate.  The  intermediate  grades  are 
immensely  diversified,  but,  as  far  as  politics  go,  there  are 
but  three  prominent  classes.  They  are,  first,  patriotic  con 
servatives,  with  a  sprinkling  of  royalists  or  tories ;  next,  ad 
vocates  of  revolution,  prepared  to  go  all  lengths ;  lastly, 
men  who  wait  for  events,  and  conceal  their  sentiments, 
read  to  join  either  side,  if  it  acquires  the  ascendency. 

"The  first  of  these  classes  embraces  the  great  landed 
proprietors.  They  are  the  sons  or  grandsons  of  English 
younger  sons  who  came  here  and  obtained,  by  industry  or 
favor,  large  tracts  on  the  banks  of  our  rivers.  In  the  first 
generation  they  often  lived  rudely,  and  worked  hard  ;  in  the 
second  or  third,  they  roll  in  coaches,  and  live  splendidly. 
They  are  cavaliers,  or  gentlemen — call  them  what  you 
please — essentially  of  the  old  English  stock  of  country  gen 
tlemen.  They  have,  many  of  them,  been  educated  in  En 
gland,  and  have  traveled  on  the  continent.  They  have 
thus  imbibed  the  traditions  of  the  past.  On  their  walls 
hang  the  portraits  of  their  ancestors,  and  they  read  of  these 
personages  in  the  memoirs  of  past  ages.  Thus,  every  thing 
combines  to  make  these  men  royalists :  family  pride,  edu 
cation,  the  fear  of  innovation  on  their  class,  and  the  dread 
of  Democracy.  They  are  members  of  the  established  Church 
of  England,  and  believe  in  the  apostolic  succession.  They 
are  attached  to  that  constitutional  royalty  which  recognizes 
the  monarch  as  the  first  gentleman  of  his  kingdom.  They 
like  the  order  of  nobility  because  a  step  only  separates  them 
from  its  elevation — a  step  which  has  often  been  passed  over. 
They  believe  in  those  '  degrees  in  a  state'  which  Shakspeare 


402  HENKY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

tells  of- — they  believe  that  they  are  better  than  the  common 
ers.  They  love,  in  a  word,  the  whole  machinery  of  the 
English  system,  and  recoil  at  the  thought  of  opposing  her. 

"  This  class,  thus  imperfectly  outlined,  has  longed  for  an 
arrangement  of  the  present  difficulties — a  peaceful  solution 
of  all  dissensions.  They  have  voted,  in  the  Burgesses,  for 
petitions  and  protests,  but  their  protests  have  always  ended 
with  a  clause  about  '  his  Majesty's  most  loyal  humble  serv 
ants  and  subjects.'  They  shudder  and  draw  back  when 
the  word  revolution  is  uttered,  and  they  cling  to  the  past, 
to  the  habitudes  of  London,  to  the  sentiments  and  views 
of  their  fathers. 

"  Now  for  the  second  class,  the  advocates  of  revolution 
— those  fiery  souls  who  inhale  the  odor  of  the  muttering 
tempest,  and  rejoice  as  they  descry  its  approach.  These  are 
men  of  less  property,  though  similar  origin.  They  live,  for 
the  most  part,  upon  small  estates,  and  ride  to  court  with 
their  saddle-bags,  and  dress  carelessly.  They  do  not  culti 
vate  that  suavity  and  repose  which  is  the  aim  of  the  rich 
planter  ;  they  wear  no  velvet  or  lace  ;  they  speak  often  un- 
couthly,  but  with  a  rough,  eloquence  which  arouses.  In 
the  West  they  are  often  mountain  hunters,  depending  for 
support,  in  a  measure,  on  their  rifles,  clad  in  hunting-shirts 
and  deer-skin  buskins.  They  have  few  family  traditions, 
and  no  portraits.  Their  ancestors  could  not  fee  Sir  God 
frey  Kneller  or  Van  Dyck.  They  breathe  the  winds  of  the 
great  mountains,  hear  the  noise  of  the  torrents ;  the  eagle 
screams,  from  the  clouds,  above  their  lodges  in  the  clefts  of 
the  Alleghanies,  and  he  is  not  more  free  and  disdainful  of 
control  than  themselves.  These  men  not  only  do  not  stand 
in  awe  of  royalty — they  do  not  understand  or  think  of  it.  It 
has  never  come  to  molest  them  in  their  far  mountain  eyries, 
and  they  care  as  little  for  the  aristocracy  of  the  lowland. 
They  listen,  as  in  a  dream,  when  you  tell  them  of  the  char 
iots,  and  gold  plate,  and  the  opulence  of  the  Tidewater. 
They  nod  their  heads,  and  tell  you  that  your  story  is  inter 
esting  ;  then  they  play  with  their  great  rifles,  and  follow  the 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN",    GENTLEMAN.  403 

flight  of  an  eagle  with  their  eyes,  and  go,  singing,  up  the 
mountain,  thinking  only  of  the  buck  hunt  on  the  morrow. 
When  the  planter  of  the  East  turns  in  bed  to  take  his  sec 
ond  nap,  the  hunter  is  following  the  deer  over  the  breezy 
hills,  or  dashing  aside  the  waves  of  the  Kanawha  with  the 
paddle  of  his  gum-tree  canoe.  The  elegantly-clad  cavalier 
receives  his  guests  at  the  door  of  his  fine  mansion,  bowing 
low  as  he  assists  the  dames  from  their  coaches ;  the  mount 
aineer  is  telling  stories  to  his  comrades  around  the  camp  fire. 
As  the  minuet  commences,  with  its  dazzling  figures  and  state 
ly  music,  the  hunter  falls  asleep  beneath  the  stars.  These 
men,  the  yeomen  of  the  East  and  the  mountaineers  of  the 
West,  form  the  second  class — almost  ignorant  of  royalty,  and 
careless  of  its  doings,  but  ready  to  march  on  it,  and  strike  it 
mortally  when  it  invades  their  territory,  as  they  would  a 
wolf  or  a  panther.  But  I  mistake.  Ten  years  ago  this  was 
just  the  picture.  To-day  these  men  have  made  the  acquaint 
ance  of  his  Majesty  and  of  Parliament.  They  have  not  said 
much,  but  they  have  looked  to  their  rifles.  You  will  see 
them  in  Williamsburg  soon;  Goths  and  Huns  in  the  streets 
of  Rome. 

"  I  have  said  that  the  third  class  embraced  the  hangers- 
on — those  men  who  watch  events,  and  are  prepared  to  side 
with  the  strongest.  They  are  factors,  for  the  most  part,  who 
have  'moneys'  involved  in  the  issue — who  do  not  wish  to 
quarrel  with  the  planters,  and  await  their  action.  They  op 
posed  the  non-intercourse  association  of  last  year  because  it 
injured  their  business  ;  they  trade  now  in  their  patriotism, 
and  await  the  rising  of  the  curtain.  Enough  of  them. 

"  Well,  now,  friend,"  the  stranger  continued,  "  you  see 
the  issue ;  you  see  the  elements  which  will  enter  into  this 
struggle.  I  commenced  by  saying  that  the  action  of  Dun- 
more  had  combined  these  discordant  elements ;  and  I  think 
you  comprehend  what  I  meant. 

"The  great  planters,  the  first  class,  love  England  and 
their  old  traditions,  but  they  are  true  Englishmen,  and  love 
their  personal  liberty  more.  They  are  afraid  of  Democracy, 


404  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

but  they  are  more  afraid  of  Parliament.  They  would  risk 
their  lives  to  preserve  the  legitimate  action  of  the  sovereign 
from  insult ;  they  will  die  before  they'll  bow  to  what  is  des 
potism.  Well,  the  treachery  of  Dunmore  has  revolted  this 
class  profoundly ;  his  insults  have  aroused  their  hot  blood ; 
they  hate  him,  and  hate  the  government  which  instructed 
him,  and  are  ready  to  strike  him.  They  overmatch,  lastly, 
the  pure  royalists  so  immensely  that  this  element  is  com 
pletely  paralyzed. 

"The  second  class,  the  yeomen  and  the  hunters,  are 
aroused,  too — that  is,  made  to  see  that  the  time  has  come. 
They  now  understand  that  their  own  is  a  popular  sentiment 
— that,  when  they  march,  it  will  be  with  an  ever-increasing 
force  as  they  proceed.  They  feel  that  the  treachery  of  Dun- 
more  has  matured  all :  they  unite  with  the  planters. 

"The  third  class  are  accustomed  to  watch  the  times. 
They  see  that  the  liberty  stock  is  rising.  They  begin  to 
understand  that  their  debts  to  English  houses  will  be  abro 
gated  by  a  struggle  with  the  mother  country.  They  now 
press  forward,  and  are  flaming  patriots.  They  shout  '  Lib 
erty  !'  and  then  look  round  for  applause.  It  is  Dunmore's 
treachery  which  has  decided  these  men,  too :  they  march 
with  the  rest. 

"  Well,  friend,"  added  the  stranger,  raising  his  head, 
"you  now  know  what  has  taken  place  in  your  absence. 
The  tornado,  long  blowing,  is  beginning  to  roar  ;  royal  au 
thority  trembles  in  the  balance,  and  is  weighed,  and  found 
wanting.  The  fiery  finger  has  traced  the  flaming  letters  on 
the  wall,  3Iene,  mene,  tekel,  upharsin  I  '  God  hath  num 
bered  thy  kingdom  and  finished  it !'  The  monarch,  in  his 
palace,  already  hears  the  roar  of  the  unloosed  waters. 
Those  waters  commenced,  a  mere  rill,  a  thread  upon  the  ex 
panse  of  the  land ;  but  they  have  rolled  on  and  gathered 
strength  ;  from  year  to  year  they  have  increased ;  at  last 
they  rush  toward  the  sea,  whose  surges  are  lashed  by  the 
tempest !  On  the  banks  of  the  great  stream  a  poor  wan 
derer  stands  musing.  It  is  myself,  friend  !  My  part  has 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  405 

been  to  follow  it  in  its  august  flow  from  the  source — tor  re 
move,  when  I  could,  the  obstructions  in  its  bed — to  widen 
and  clear  out  the  channel.  If  I  have  assisted,  thus,  the  in 
fant  stream  of  Liberty,  I  have  not  lived  in  vain.  My  mis 
sion  was  to  perform  this  service,  and  I  have  tried  to  fulfill  it. 
The  stream  rushes  onward  now,  and  I  disappear.  Hence 
forth  there  is  little  for  me  to  do  but  to  throw  myself  into 
the  current  and  share  its  fate.  Swallowed  up  in  the  billows, 
lost  in  the  ranks,  I  have,  henceforth,  my  arm  alone  to  offer. 
Seek  me  here  in  the  autumn  of  this  year  and,  I  predict,  you 
will  not  find  me.  Before  that  time,  all  will  be  decided ; 
even  now  events  rush  to  their  fulfillment !" 

As  the  stranger  spoke,  the  neigh  of  a  distant  horse  was 
heard,  and,  bending  forward,  he  listened. 

"  They  are  on  their  march  !"  he  said. 

"  Whom  ?"  said  St.  John,  rising. 

"  Wait ;  you  will  see,"  and  the  stranger  led  the  way  to 
the  open  window. 

It  was  a  clear,  moonlight  night,  and  the  mellow  radiance 
slept  peacefully  on  the  roofs  of  the  houses.  No  sound  dis 
turbed  the  deep  silence  except  the  murmur  of  the  sea  breeze 
dying  away  in  the  distance. 

But  as  St.  John  and  the  stranger  leaned  forth  and  list 
ened,  a  second  neigh,  much  closer  than  the  first,  was  borne 
on  the  night  wind  to  their  ears. 

Then,  in  the  deep  silence,  a  measured  tramp  was  heard, 
sabers  gleamed  in  the  moonlight,  and  a  body  of  men  ad 
vanced  along  Gloucester  street,  and  turned  into  Palace 
street. 

At  the  head  of  these  men  rode  a  horseman  wrapped  in  a 
cloak,  and  it  was  his  animal  which  had  neighed. 

From  their  lofty  post  the  stranger  and  St.  John  witnessed 
the  silent  advance  of  the  company,  and  soon  saw  a  light 
glimmer  in  a  window  of  the  palace,  before  which  the  men 
halted. 

"  Ah !'»  said  St.  John,  "  these  are—" 

"  Marines  from  the  schooner  Magdalen,  which  lies  at  Bur- 


406  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

well's  Ferry  on  James  river,  yonder.    The  horseman   is 
Captain  Collins." 

"What  is  their  object?" 

"  Look  and  listen,  friend,"  said  the  stranger,  "  and  you 
will  see." 

St.  John  leaned  further  out  and  listened,  a  color  for  the 
first  time  invading  his  pale  cheek,  and  his  eyes  ardently 
plunging  into  half  darkness. 

A  colloquy  seemed  to  be  going  on  in  front  of  the  palace, 
but  this  lasted  for  a  few  minutes  only.  Almost  immediate 
ly  the  noise  of  wheels  was  heard,  and  the  chariot  of  Lord 
Duumore,  drawn  by  six;  horses,  and  surrounded  by  his  guards, 
commanded  by  Lindon,  drove  slowly,  and  with  apparent  cau 
tion,  out  of  Palace  street,  and  disappeared  in  the  direction 
of  Montebello,  the  Governor's  mansion,  some  six  miles  be 
low  Williamsburg. 

"  Do  you  understand  ?"  said  the  stranger,  whose  lips  wore 
an  expression  of  the  m'ost  withering  scorn ;  "  do  you  know 
what  that  means,  friend  ?" 

«  Speak !» 

"  His  Excellency  flies  to  his  country  seat,  leaving  his 
family  behind !" 

"  Flies !     What  is  his  fear  ?» 

"  Listen  and  look !" 

As  the  stranger  spoke,  he  extended  his  hand  in  the  moon 
light,  and  St.  John  saw  the  troop  of  men  march  to  the  pow 
der  magazine,  rapidly  place  fifteen  or  twenty  barrels  of 
powder  in  carts,  and  then  quickly  retrace  their  steps  in 
the  direction  from  which  they  had  come. 

"  They  are  disarming  the  town !"  cried  St.  John,  starting 
up,  and  drawing  his  sword  ;  "  give  the  alarm,  friend,  or  they 
will  escape !" 

And  he  threw  himself  toward  the  door,  with  flashing 
eyes,  and  cheeks  crimson  with  passion. 

The  heavy  hand  of  the  stranger  violently  arrested  him. 
St.  John  looked  impatiently  at  the  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
at  the  cold  and  collected  face. 


HENBT  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  407 

"  Why  do  you  stop  me  ?"  he  said. 

"  Because  I  do  not  recognize  your  right  to  forestall  events 
and  embarrass  the  cause." 

"  Embarrass !" 

"  Yes.     Can  you  misunderstand  ?" 

"Speak!" 

"  That  powder  is,  in  all,  fifteen  half  barrels  of  fifty  pounds 
each.  We  have  ten  times  the  amount  safely  stored.  It  is 
necessary  that  this  powder  should  be  removed.  It  was 
foreseen — " 

"  Foreseen !" 

"  By  myself  and  others.  Were  you  to  arouse  Williams- 
burg  now  you  would  oppose  some  frightened  burghers,  half 
asleep,  to  a  band  of  armed  marines,  stimulated  by  drink. 
The  result  would  be  unnecessary  loss  of  life  and  defeat. 
The  injury  to  the  cause  is,  however,  the  paramount  thing." 

"  Injury !" 

"  Yes,  friend,"  said  the  stranger,  coolly,  "  I  repeat  that  it 
is  in  the  first  degree  desirable  that  Lord  Dunmore  should 
perfect  this  outrage.  In  a  week  you  will  understand  me. 
The  powder  is  valueless — the  outrage  is  of  immense  value 
to  the  cause !  Do  you  not  comprehend  the  enormous  im 
portance  of  this  blow — of  an  armed  encounter  between  the 
Governor  and  the  people,  before  an  overwhelming  force  is 
marched  hither  ?  The  great  masses  busy  themselves  little 
about  abstract  principles,  but  every  one  will  understand  this 
midnight  robbery.  In  ten  days  Virginia  will  thrill  to  her 
remotest  borders  with  wrath  and  indignation.  I  would  not, 
for  the  whole  English  arsenal  in  the  Tower,  have  that  pow 
der  obstructed — have  those  men  molested  !*  Do  you  un 
derstand  now  ?" 

St.  John  fell  back,  murmuring. 

"  Let  us  now  get  some  sleep,  for  the  events  of  the  mor 
row  will  need  fresh  arms,  perhaps,  friend,"  said  the  stran 
ger  ;  "  it  is  Dunmore  who  plays  our  whole  game  for  us. 
He  is  but  a  tyro !  for  he  's  staked  the  authority  of  his 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXXVIII. 


408  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

master  in  Virginia  against  eight  barrels  of  powder,  and 
he  '11  lose !» 

With  which  words  the  stranger  coolly  resumed  his  seat. 

St.  John  retired  to  his  lodgings,  making  an  appointment 
to  meet  the  stranger  at  the  Raleigh  at  sunrise,  and  soon 
the  town  was  as  silent  as  before. 

The  powder  marauders,  with  their  illustrious  master,  had 
come  and  gone  as  silently  as  shadows. 


CHAPTEE  LXXV. 

WILLIAMSBURG    IN    AEMS,   AND   CAPTAIN    EALPH    WATERS  IN 
ECSTACIES. 

AT  sunrise  the  stranger  and  St.  John  met  in  front  of  the 
Raleigh,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  the  intelligence  of  the  re 
moval  of  the  powder  had  run  like  wildfire  through  the 
town. 

All  Williamsburg  flew  to  arms. 

Every  moment  the  crowds  at  the  corners  increased,  and 
these  crowds  were  harangued  by  orators  of  the  common 
people,  who  sprung  up  thus  in  an  instant,  and  rode  for  the 
moment  upon  the  popular  current. 

Execrations  directed  at  Lord  Dunmore  resounded  upon 
every  side,  and  a  hoarse  murmur,  rising  at  times  into  a  roar, 
indicated  the  depth  of  the  feeling  which  this  last  outrage 
had  aroused  and  pushed  into  action. 

As  the  morning  drew  on,  the  crowd  ever  grew  more 
dense  and  more  furious ;  for  it  was  found,  that  in  addition, 
the  muskets  in  the  magazine  had  been  deprived  of  their  locks. 
The  gentlemen  of  the  town,  and  some  members  of  the  Gov 
ernor's  council,  in  vain  attempted  to  calm  the  tumult. 

The  people  of  Williamsburg  were  completely  aroused, 
and  like  most  popular  bodies,  only  waited  for  a  leader  to 
proceed  to  acts  of  violence. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  409 

This  leader  presented  himself  in  the  person  of  a  country 
lawyer,  who  sprang  upon  a  barrel-head  at  the  door  of  a 
shop  and  announced  that  the  palace  floor  was  covered  with 
muskets,  and  that  Lord  Dunmore  had  hastened  to  Monte- 
bello  to  arm  his  negroes,  and  the  Shawnee  hostages  brought 
back  from  the  frontier. 

The  intelligence  fell  like  fire  upon  gunpowder.  A  hoarse 
roar  issued  from  the  crowd,  and  like  an  immense  wave  of 
the  ocean,  it  surged  toward  the  palace,  which  was  surround 
ed  in  an  instant  by  the  shouting  and  furious  inhabitants. 

At  the  front  gate  stood  his  Excellency's  chariot,  which 
had  just  returned  from  Montebello,  and  as  the  multitude 
rushed  toward  the  spot,  Lady  Dunmore  and  her  daughters 
were  just  stepping  into  the  vehicle. 

Before  they  could  do  so,  they  were  jostled  aside  by  some 
of  the  crowd,  and  violent  hands  were  laid  upon  the  bridles 
of  the  rearing  horses.  The  driver  sat  pale  and  trembling, 
scarcely  able  to  hold  the  reins ;  and  Lady  Dunmore  and 
her  daughters  trembled  too. 

It  was  but  an  instant  that  they  were  thus  subjected  to 
insult. 

A  sword  flashed  in  the  air — a  vigorous  arm  hurled  back 
the  assailants,  who  were  the  mere  scum  of  the  multitude, 
that  vulgar  froth,  so  to  speak,  which  floats  on  the  purest 
waters — and  looking  up,  Lady  Dunmore  and  her  daughters 
encountered  the  pale  face  of  St.  John,  which  was  cold,  but 
fiery  with  indignation. 

"  Your  ladyship  need  fear  no  violence,"  said  the  young 
man  ;  "  myself,  and  Captain  Waters  here,  will  see  that  you 
are  treated  with  respect.  Before  your  ladyship  is  insulted 
by  any  one,  I  '11  sheathe  my  sword  in  his  heart." 

And  confronting  the  assailants,  Mr.  St.  John  met  their 
furious  glances  with  a  look  which  indicated  that  he  was 
both  ready  and  willing  to  carry  out  his  threat. 

"  That's  the  word,  Harry  my  boy !"  said  Captain  "Wat 
ers,  pushing  through  to  his  side.  "  Morbleu !  I  '11  stand 
by  you  there — and  her  ladyship  can  proceed." 

18 


410          HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAH. 

Lady  Dunmore,  still  trembling,  got  into  the  carriage, 
followed  by  her  daughters,  and  assisted  by  Mr.  St.  John : 
and  then  the  crowd  opening,  the  chariot  was  permitted  to 
proceed. 

St.  John  exchanged  a  glance  with  young  Lady  Augusta, 
who  thanked  him  with  that  grateful  look  for  his  devotion. 
But  he  had  only  repaid  her  kindness  to  Blossom,  when  the 
child  nearly  fainted,  and  was  cheered  by  the  girl. 

The  crowd  thus  permitted  the  Governor's  family  to 
depart,  disowning  the  vulgar  assault  of  the  understrappers  j 
but  the  palace  of  the  hateful  Governor  remained. 

They  seized  all  the  arms,  which  were  ranged  in  long  rows 
upon  the  floor  ;  and  took  prisoner  the  private  secretary  of 
his  Excellency. 

Captain  Foy  looked  around  him  for  a  moment  like  an 
infuriated  tiger — cold,  but  burning  with  rage.  Then  he 
calmly  went  on  with  his  writing. 

"  My  dear  Foy,"  said  Captain  Waters,  as  the  tide  of  in 
vaders  flowed  away,  leaving  them  nearly  alone,  "  do  you 
know  that  you  really  fill  me  with  admiration  ?  Parbleu  ! 
we  seem  vulgar  urchins  beside  you.  I  recognize  my  su 
perior  ;  and  rather  than  see  you  assailed  by  the  good  people 
of  the  town,  I  will  die  on  the  threshold  of  your  apart 
ment." 

"Thanks,  captain,"  said  Foy  coolly,  "that  sounds  like  a 
comrade." 

"  It  sounds  true,  my  dear  Foy.  I  have  no  idea  of  letting 
some  vulgar  fellow  run  you  through.  I  reserve  that  pleas 
ure  for  myself." 

Foy  smiled  sardonically. 

"  I  think,  from  present  appearances,  you  '11  soon  have  an 
occasion,  captain,"  he  said ;  "  events  are  thickening,  and 
the  pen  yields  to  the  sword." 

"  Certainly  it  does,  and  that 's  right." 

"  I  agree  with  you." 

"  The  sword  will  serve  his  Excellency  better  than  the 
pen,  eh  ?" 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GESTTLEMAN.  411 

"  Such  is  my  opinion,  captain,"  said  Foy,  coolly. 

"  You  confess,  then,  that  the  goose  quill 's  but  a  sorry 
tool — that  it  has  not  succeeded  ?" 

"  Succeeded,  captain  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Foy.  It  is  obvious  to  all  now  that  his 
Excellency's  chief  rascal,  Conolly,  took  advantage  of  the 
confiding  disposition  of  his  lordship,  and  deceived  him ; 
that  his  Excellency's  treachery  quite  failed." 

"  Captain  Waters— !" 

"My  dear  Foy!"  said  the  captain  with  a  polite  air. 

"It  is  perilous  to  speak  thus  of  his  Majesty's  representa 
tive  !'» 

"Representative ! — where?" 

"  In  Williamsburg." 

"  If  you  refer  to  Dunmore,  my  dear  friend,  I  reply 
simply  that  he 's  not  here.  Having  abstracted — I  believe 
that 's  the  polite  word — our  powder,  his  lordship  is  amusing 
himself  making  fireworks  at  Montebello,  having  doubtless 
forgotten  his  wife  and  daughters." 

"  He  is  still  the  Governor,  sir." 

"Then  we  are  unfortunate,  for  we,'ve  a  coward  for  a 
ruler.  Come,  do  n't  think  me  rude,  my  dear  Foy.  I  de 
clare  it  to  be  my  opinion  that  the  man  who  runs  away  .to 
escape  popular  wrath,  and  leaves  his  family  behind  to  meet 
the  shock  which  he  knows  will  come — this  personage,  I  am 
constrained  to  declare,  in  all  simplicity,  a  coward ;  and  that 
is  worse  than  a  traitor.  His  Excellency,  I  regret  to  say,  is 
both." 

"  Captain  Waters,  do  you  consider  it  grateful  to  insult  a 
prisoner  ?" 

"  Insult !" 

"  Yes,  me  sir !" 

"  Insult  you,  my  dear  Foy,  and  at  present  ?  I  would 
sooner  cut  off  my  right  hand,  and  have  my  ears  nailed  to  a 
pillory." 

"  Well,  sir,  this  insult  to  his  Excellency  is  an  insult  to 
me." 


412  HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

The  captain  stood  dumbfoundered  at  this  new  view,  and 
the  longer  he  reflected,  the  more  just  did  it  seem. 

He  drew  back  and  sighed. 

"  My  dear  Foy,"  he  said,  "  I  am  absent  this  morning,  and 
that  never  occurred  to  me.  You  see  I  was  only  jesting,  and 
I  would  n't  hurt  your  feelings  for  the  world.  My  real  opinion 
of  his  lordship  is  quite  different.  I  regard  him  as  the  model 
of  a  gentleman  and  a  cavalier.  In  all  the  relations  of  life 
he  shines  preeminent;  he  touches  nothing  which  he  don't 
adorn  ;  the  Latin  's  escaped  me,  if  I  ever  knew  it." 

The  same  sardonic  smile  wreathed  the  corners  of  Foy's 
mouth. 

"  I  'm  glad  your  real  opinion  of  his  Excellency  is  diiferent, 
captain,"  he  said. 

"  Different !  I  should  say  it  was.  Could  you  think  for  a, 
moment,  my  dear  comrade,  that  I  attached  any  credit  to  the 
vulgar  rumors  of  the  day  ?  The  idea  of  a  nobleman  being 
guilty  of  treachery  and  cowardice  !  My  amazement  at  this 
charge  is  so  great  that  I  feel  as  if  some  one  had  cuffed  me 
on  my  head  !  I'll  uphold  his  lordship  as  the  grandest  of  his 
order,  and  I  '11  cram  down  the  throats  of  his  enemies  their 
accusations !" 

A  rather  poor  commentary  upon  the  captain's  sincerity 
was  instantly  afforded. 

The  crowd  had  taken  all  the  muskets,  disarmed  the  serv 
ants,  and  now  they  came  to  the  apartment  in  which  Foy 
was  under  guard,  muttering  "  traitor !"  and  a  variety  of 
other  criticisms  of  his  Excellency. 

No  insult  or  violence  was  offered  to  Captain  Foy,  how 
ever,  and  they  even  permitted  him  to  retain  his  papers. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  guard  was  withdrawn,  and  he  was 
at  liberty.  The  secretary  received  the  intimation  as  coolly 
as  before,  and  continued  his  writing. 

The  palace  and  the  grounds  were  by  this  time  vacated, 
and  another  portion  of  the  inhabitants,  who  had  armed  them 
selves  to  march  and  attack  the  Magdalen,  and  recover  the 
powder,  returned  to  their  homes. 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAK.  413 

This  moderation  of  the  popular  excitement  was  due  to  the 
exertions  of  the  members  of  the  Governor's  council,  who 
earnestly  dissuaded  the  people  from  violence.  They  recom 
mended  a  meeting  of  the  town  in  its  corporate  capacity,  and 
the  meeting  was  held  at  once. 

The  result  was  an  address  to  his  Excellency,  in  which  the 
Common  Council  represented  that  the  "inhabitants  of  the 
city  had  been  that  morning  exceedingly  alarmed  by  a  re 
port  that  a  large  quantity  of  gunpowder  was,  in  the  preced 
ing  night,  while  they  were  sleeping  in  their  beds,  removed 
from  the  public  magazine  in  the  city,  and  conveyed,  under 
an  escort  of  marines,  on  board  one  of  his  Majesty's  armed 
vessels  lying  at  a  ferry  on  James  river ;"  that  "  the  maga 
zine  was  erected  at  the  public  expense  of  the  colony,"  for 
arming  the  militia,  "  in  cases  of  invasion  and  insurrection," 
and  they  desired  "  to  be  informed  by  his  Excellency,  upon 
what  motives  and  for  what  particular  purpose  the  powder 
had  been  carried  off  in  such  a  manner,"  and  ended  by  re 
questing  that  it  might  be  "  immediately  returned  to  the 
magazine." 

His  Excellency  returned,  verbally,  the  reply,  that  he  had 
heard  of  "an  insurrection  in  a  neighboring  county,"  and 
had  removed  the  powder  to  a  place  of  safety.  Whenever 
it  was  wanted,  upon  his  word  of  honor,  it  should  be  de 
livered  in  half  an  hour.  He  had  removed  it  in  the  night 
time  to  prevent  any  alarm,  and  was  surprised  to  hear  the 
people  were  under  arms ;  he  could  not  trust  them  with  pow 
der.  That  was  all  the  reply. 

On  the  next  day,  Captain  Collins  and  some  of  his  men  en 
tered  Williamsburg,  and  swaggered  about  the  streets,  and 
in  the  evening  the  captain  and  Foy  rode  to  Montebello,  re 
turning  at  twilight. 

On  the  next  morning,  his  Excellency  sent  word  by  one 
of  the  magistrates  that  "  if  any  insult  were  offered  to  Cap 
tain  Foy,  or  Captain  Collins,  he  would  declare  freedom  to 
the  slaves  and  lay  the  town  in  ashes,"  adding  that  he  could 
easily  depopulate  the  county. 


414  HENKY    ST.   JOHN",    GENTLEMAN. 

His  lordship  finding  this  threat  received  without  open  ex 
hibitions  of  resistance,  then  returned  with  his  guards  to  Wil 
liam  sburg. 

On  the  next  evening,  Captain  Foy  was  proceeding  to 
ward  the  palace  when  he  met  Captain  Waters. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  news,  my  dear  friend  ?"  said  Wat 
ers. 

"  No,  captain,"  returned  Foy. 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you.  That  scoundrel,  General  Gage,  who 
represents  his  most  Christian  Majesty  in  Boston,  has  removed 
their  powder,  as  his  ExceUency  kindly  did  ours.  The  result 
has  been  a  battle  at  Lexington  and  Concord,  on  the  very 
day  that  Captain  Collins  marched  to  Williamsburg  and  rob 
bed  the  magazine.  Can  you  conceive  of  such  a  rascally  co 
incidence,  my  dear  Foy  ?" 

"  Captain  Waters !"  said  Foy,  coloring,  "  are  you  aware, 
sir,  that  you  utter  sedition  ?" 

"  Sedition,  my  dear  Foy  ?"  returned  Waters ;  "  well,  I 
believe  all  Williamsburg  is  assisting  me." 

"  All  Williamsburg,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  friend.  The  Raleigh 's  in  a  flame  from 
the  news,  and  it 's  rapidly  spreading.  As  I  observed,  the 
general  opinion  is,  that  the  removal  of  the  powder  through 
out  America  was  concerted — done  in  obedience  to  orders 
from  home.  Eh  ?  Was  n't  it,  my  dear  Foy  ?" 

"  Seek  intelligence  elsewhere,  Captain  Waters,"  said  Foy, 
passing  on. 

"  Well,  I  will,"  said  Captain  Ralph,  smiling ;  "  but  let  me 
finish,  my  dear  Foy." 

"  Proceed,  sir." 

"  If  the  removal  of  the  powder  here,  and  in  Massachusetts, 
was  concerted,  you  see — " 

"  Well,  sir !" 

"  In  obedience  to  orders  from  London — " 

"  Suppose  it  was,  sir !" 

"  Why,  then,  you  see,  I  am  cleared  from  any  accusation 
of  sedition,  which  is  libel,"  said  the  captain.  "His  Excel- 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  415 

lency  said  he  removed  it  because  there  was^an  insurrection 
in  James  City  county ;  now,  if  he  really  did  so,  in  obedience 
to  general  orders,  without  reference  to  the  insurrection,  why 
it  is  obvious  that  his  Excellency  has  willfully  lied,  and  the 
coincidence,  as  I  said,  is  in  every  sense  rascally.  It 's  no 
libel,  it 's  the  simple  and  plain  truth,  my  dear  Foy !" 

Met  thus  by  a  direct  and  unmistakable  insult,  as  gross  as 
it  was  pointed,  Foy  advanced  a  step  and  said,  with  a  slight 
flush  in  his  pale  face, 

"  Captain  "Waters,  do  you  wish  to  visit  the  Fowey  man- 
of-war  in  irons  ?" 

"  Not  at  present,  my  dear  Foy,"  said  the  captain. 

"Well,  sir,  if  you  wish  to  avoid  it,  I  advise  you  to  con 
trol  your  remarks." 

"  What  remarks  ?» 

"  About  his  Excellency." 

"  I  have  said  nothing  wrong." 

"  You  have  charged  him  with  falsehood,  sir — plainly!" 

"  Well,  my  dear  Captain  Foy,  I  think  he  has  been  guilty 
of  that." 

"  Captain  Waters !» 

"  And  of  cowardice." 

"Sir—!" 

"  Treachery  too,  Foy,"  said  Captain  Waters,  coolly,  "and 
my  own  opinion  is,  that  you  yourself  have  more  or  less 
to  do  with  both  the  falsehood  and  the  treachery.  You 
see,  I  acquit  you  of  the  cowardice  for  old  acquaintance 
sake." 

Foy's  hand  darted  to  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  thus  driven 
like  a  wild  cat  to  the  wall,  by  these  repeated  insults,  he 
would  in  an  instant  have  rushed  upon  his  adversary. 

Before  his  sword,  however,  leaped  from  its  scabbard,  he 
heard  a  voice  say,  "  His  lordship  sends  for  you,  sir,"  and 
turning  round  he  fourfd  himself  face  to  face  with  the  old 
usher  in  black  velvet. 

A  flush  of  rage  and  disappointment  threw  a  lurid  light 
upon  the  secretary's  face,  and,  advancing  within  two  steps 


416  HENRY  ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

of  Waters,  he  said,  between  his  clenched  teeth,  and  in  a  low, 
hissing  voice, 

"  We  shall  meet  again,  sir,  and  I  '11  wipe  out  the  insults 
you  have  heaped  upon  me  with  your  heart's  blood.  I  prom 
ise  you  that,  sir !" 

"  Good,  good,  my  dear  Foy !"  said  the  captain,  cheer 
fully  ;  "  that  sort  of  talk  really  delights  me  !" 

"  I  'm  glad  you  like  it,  sir,"  said  Foy,  pale  with  rage. 

"Like  it?  I  believe  you.  It  sounds  like  the  sweetest 
winds  of  summer  to  my  ears.  At  last  I  shall  learn  the  coup 
de  Reinfels,  and  perhaps  in  return  teach  you  the  coup  de 
Waters,  you  see !" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  '11  try  and  end  your  affectation  and  your 
boasting !" 

"  My  affectation !  my  boasting !"  cried  the  captain  ;  "  see 
how  an  old  comrade  does  injustice  to  a  friend !  You  think 
I  boast,  you  think  I  affect !  when  all  the  time  I  'm  moved 
by  a  pure  love  of  art." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  hope  to  show  you  the  art  of  splitting  tongues, 
and  if  I  live  I  '11  perform  that  service  for  you." 

"  Split  my  tongue  !"  said  the  captain,  cheerfully  ;  "  see 
here  the  coincidence  of  genius.  That  is  just  what  I  've  long 
been  wishing  to  do  for  you  !  Your  tongue  is  already  forked 
like  a  snake's,  my  dear  Foy,  but  I  wish  to  improve  it  still 
further !" 

It  seemed  that  Captain  Foy  meditated  again  an  instant 
rush  upon  his  enemy,  but  this  idea  was  at  once  abandoned. 
With  a  hoarse  growl  he  turned  away. 

"  A  last  word,  my  dear  Foy,"  said  the  captain ;  "  let  us 
exchange  a  parting  assurance  of  regard.  I  have  a  real  af 
fection  for  yourself  and  his  Excellency,  and  you  may  inform 
him  that  in  forty-eight  hours  we  intend  to  knock  his  house 
about  his  ears.  We  are  no  longer  restrained  by  a  sentiment 
of  politeness — the  family  of  his  Excellency  being  absent. 
Perhaps  their  presence  made  him  a  coward,  and,  now  they 
are  gone,  he  may  fight.  He  has  an  elegant-looking  guard, 
and  a  tall,  ugly  captain  thereof,  named  London,  which  I  re- 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  417 

gret,  as  I  'd  like  to  spoil  his  beauty.  I  say,  you  can  inform 
his  Excellency  that  we  're  coming  to  pay  him  our  respects, 
our  compliments,  on  the  issue  of  the  Indian  affair,  and  to 
return  him  our  thanks  for  removing  the  powder  out  of  reach 
of  our  slaves.  He  says  we  are  traitors,  and  may  be  cowards 
— well,  '  birds  of  a  feather,'  you  know.  We  think  his  Ex 
cellency  's  admirable  company  for  such  folk  !  Go,  my  dear 
Foy !  do  n't  keep  his  Excellency  waiting  !  He  is  doubtless 
devising  new  benefits  for  the  colony,  and  needs  your  valu 
able  assistance." 

Foy  walked  away,  shuddering  with  rage,  but  saying  noth 
ing  ;  and  Waters  added,  with  a  laugh,  as  he  disappeared 
around  the  corner, 

"  Go  on,  my  dear  scorpion  ;  I'll  soon  draw  your  sting ! 
the  hours  are  ripening  !" 

With  these  words,  the  captain  twirled  his  huge  mus 
tache,  and,  with  an  expression  of  radiant  pleasure,  sought 
the  Raleigh,  which,  truly,  was  in  a  flame  with  the  news  of 
Lexington  and  Concord. 


CHAPTER    LXXVI. 

»• 

A     MEETING     OP     PATEIOTS. 

INSTEAD  of  pausing  to  depict  the  excitement,  the  agita 
tion,  the  fury,  almost,  of  Williamsburg,  just  informed,  by 
expresses,  of  the  events  in  the  North — instead  of  dwelling 
upon  this  picture,  which  the  reader  may  very  well  fancy  for 
himself,  let  us  follow  the  captain,  and  see  where  he  goes. 
Perhaps  we  shall  thus  stumble  upon  something. 

Just  at  twilight,  Captain  Waters  mounted  his  horse,  and, 
issuing  from  Williamsburg  toward  the  west,  plunged  into 
the  great  forest  as  the  shades  of  night  descended. 

He  proceeded  silently  through  the  wood  until  he  reached 
the  vicinity  of  the  old  field  school  house,  and  then  dis- 

18* 


418  HENKY   ST.   JOHN",  GENTLEMAN. 

mounting,  tied  his  horse  to  the  bough  of  a  tree,  and 
proceeded  on  fast  toward  the  building,  in  which  a  light 
glimmered. 

He  passed  a  number  of  horses  tied  like  his  own,  and  soon 
came  upon  a  figure  which  advanced  from  the  shadow  of  a 
tree,  and  hailed  him : 

"  *  Liberty'  's  the  word,  eh  ?"  said  the  captain,  shaking 
Mr.  Lugg  by  the  hand.  "  How  many  are  here,  Lanky  ?" 

"  A  good  many,  captain,"  said  Mr.  Lugg.  "  Mr.  Hamil 
ton  has  just  come." 

"  Captain  Hamilton,  say !  for  I'll  vote  for  him." 

"  What  place  will  you  take  ?  They  speak  of  you  for 
captain." 

"The  rear  guard  next  to  the  enemy.  I  '11  not  go  before 
Jack." 

"Well,  captain,  I  wish  they  would  make  me  quarter 
master." 

"Why  so?" 

"  I'm  terribly  hungry,"  and  Mr.  Lugg  applauded  his  joke. 

"  You  always  were  that,  you  rascal !"  said  the  captain, 
cheerfully.  "  The  amount  of  bacon,  bread  and  beer  which 
you  used  to  cost  me  was  really  immense." 

"  Oh,  cap'en  ! — that  is,  my  dear  captain,"  said  Mr.  Lugg, 
correcting  his  defective  pronunciation,  and  raising  his  head 
with  all  the  dignity  of  a  freeholder,  "  we  have  forgotten 
those  early  days,  I  think." 

"  You  have,"  said  the  captain,  twirling  his  mustache, 
"  and  that  is  the  consequence  of  a  good  action.  It  was  all 
owing  to  me  that  you  secured  that  incomparable  Donsy, 
formerly  pupil  of  his  Highness,  Mr.  Tag,  in  this  very  house ; 
and,  after  all  my  lies  on  that  occasion,  you  wish  to  forget !" 

"  Oh,  no,  captain  !"  said  Mr.  Lugg,  with  earnestness, 
"I'll  never  forget  all  your  goodness.  Donsy  is  a  good 
wife,  and  I  owe  my  getting  her  to  you." 

"  Very  well,  Scaramouche,  that  is  honest,  and  I  'm  coming 
next  week  to  see  the  juvenile  Lankys.  Have  they  pine- 
knot  heads  ?" 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  419 

"  Oh,  captain !  but  you  talked  of  Tag." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  he 's  in  there,"  said  Mr.  Lugg,  pointing  to  the 
school  house. 

"  You  do  n't  say  so !     A  pedagogue  ?" 

"  He  was  a  soldier,  you  know,  once." 

"  Yes,  and  a  great  rascal.  Well,  well,  it 's  a  good  sign 
when  the  riff-raff  adhere  to  a  cause.  It  proves  that  they 
think  we  're  going  to  succeed." 

"  He  talks  mighty  big,"  said  Mr.  Eugg. 

"  And  will  walk  big  until  the  enemy  comes  along,  when 
he  '11  run,"  with  which  words  Captain  Waters  proceeded  to 
the  school  house. 

About  twenty  men  were  assembled  there — and  Uncle 
Jimmy  Doubleday  presided.  Around  him  were  groupeS. 
Mr.  Jack  Hamilton,  Mr.  Tag,  and  a  variety  of  gentlemen, 
and  in  the  corner  a  sable  personage  with  goggle  eyes  and 
clad  in  an  enormous  coat,  squatted  down,  and  moved  his 
midnight  fingers  to  and  fro  on  a  fife. 

Uncle  Jimmy  opened  the  meeting,  which  had  waited,  ap 
parently,  only  for  the  captain,  with  an  address  setting  forth 
its  object. 

At  that  primitive  period  there  were  no  short-hand  report 
ers,  and  we  regret  our  inability  to  present  more  than  the 
heads  of  his  discourse. 

The  late  outrage — the  designs  of  England-»-the  schemes 
of  Dunmore — the  public  excitement — the  march  of  Patrick 
Henry  on  Williamsburg,  with  the  men  of  Hanover,  which 
the  company  now  organizing  was  going  to  join — the  duty 
of  good  citizens — the  blow  that  was  to  be  struck,  now  or 
never — this  was  the  train  of  Uncle  Jimmy's  remarks.  It 
seemed  that  they  were  very  acceptable  to  the  meeting ;  for 
when  the  old  gentleman  made  a  final  flourish  with  his 
glasses,  and  sat  down,  a  murmur  of  applause  followed. 

The  gentlemen  then  rose  and  pledged  themselves  for 
different  numbers  of  men,  to  meet  at  the  rendezvous  the 
next  day.  Then  they  proceeded  to  the  election  of  officers. 


420  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

Captain  Waters  declared  that  he  should  vote  for  Hamil 
ton,  peremptorily  refusing  to  command. 

He  was  urged  to  change  his  determination  ;  but  refusing, 
the  meeting  elected  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  returned  thanks. 

Other  officers  were  then  chosen,  and  lastly,  the  question 
of  the  commissai'iat  was  raised. 

At  this  juncture — says  the  worthy  author — our  old  and 
esteemed  friend,  Mr.  Tag,  slowly  rose  from  his  seat.  Age 
had  not  dimmed  him  in  the  least,  or  the  pedagogue  rostrum 
staled  his  infinite  vanity.  He  was  still  the  brilliant  mixture 
of  the  soldier  and  the  schoolmaster,  the  pedagogue  and  the 
politician,  the  civilian  and  the  warrior.  Like  Ulysses,  the 
worthy  Tag  had  seen  many  "climates,  councils,  govern 
ments" — and  if  not  "honored  of  them  all,"  had  at  least 
Been  noticed,  if  't  were  only  at  a  cart-tail. 

On  the  present  occasion,  the  worthy  Tag  desired  the 
commissariat.  He  made  a  speech,  declaring,  of  course, 
that  he  could  not  accept  it.  He  finally  relented,  however, 
and  announced  that  if  his  friends  chose  to  confer  the  office 
upon  him,  he  should  not  feel  at  liberty  to  refuse  it ;  devo 
tion  to  the  public  weal  being  the  first  passion  of  his  soul. 
His  friend — he  might  almost  say,  his  noble  friend — Captain 
Waters,  knew  that  he  was  experienced  in  such  things ;  and 
often,  in  the  Seven  Years'  War,  they  had  slept  together,  in 
the  next  couch  he  was  sorry  to  say,  to  that  viper,  Captain 
Foy.  He  had  always  distrusted  that  man — from  the  first 
he  knew  him  to  be  a  villain.  In  those  complicated  and  en 
tangled  secret  schemes  which  to  the  everlasting  shame  of 
the  English  government,  Lord  Dunmore,  with  this  man, 
had  projected" 

Here  symptoms  of  impatience  on  the  part  of  the  audience 
developed  themselves. 

Mr.  Tag  therefore  cut  short  his  remarks  by  saying  that 
if  the  commissariat  was  bestowed  upon  him,  he  should  be 
much  flattered.  And  then  he  sat  down  in  the  spot  where 
he  and  Lanky  had  encountered  each  other  in  old  days, 
sword  against  tongs. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  421 

Lanky  was  opposed  to  him  now,  and  Lanky  was  elected. 

"  Mas'  Tag  did  n't.  do  it  dat  time — he  did  n't,"  issued  in  a 
murmur  of  triumph  from  the  corner ;  "  tread  on  my  coat- 
tail,  and  knock  me  down  and  lam  me — berry  glad  to  hear 
it,  Mas'  Tag !» 

Having  made  this  remark,  sotto  voce,  Mr.  Crow  subsided 
into  silence  and  darkness,  running  his  fingers  along  the  fife 
and  grinning. 

The  meeting  had  now  concluded  its  business,  and  soon  it 
rose. 

They  had  agreed  upon  a  rendezvous  early  the  next  day, 
at  Banks'  cross-roads. 

"  Morbleu  /"  said  the  captain,  as  he  rode  away  with  Ham 
ilton  ;  "  'tis  strange  how  the  sight  of  that  building  affected 
me.  You  know,  Jack,  it 's  an  old  acquaintance !" 

"Ah!" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  captain,  sighing  and  smiling,  "  you  must 
have  observed  that  amid  all  the  excitement,  I  was  quiet — in 
the  midst  of  the  enthusiasm,  I  was  thoughtful.  Do  you 
know  why  ?" 

"Tell  me." 

"  Because  I  was  often  there  in  the  merry  old  days  when  I 
was  courting  Henrietta,  you  know,  Jack,"  said  the  captain 
smiling,  and  raising  his  fine  and  martial  face  in  the  moon 
light.  "  It  was  there  that  I  remember  leaning  through  the 
window,  and  swearing  back  at  Tag,  when  I  went  to  get 
Donsy  for  Lanky  Lugg.  It  was  there  that  the  noble  Lanky 
fought — an  encounter  which  I  arrived  just  in  time  to  wit 
ness,  and  whisk  away  the  maiden  Donsy  in  my  chariot,  in 
defiance  of  his  excellency,  Mr.  Tag,  who  had  threatened  to 
whip  her,  and  made  her  cry.  Faith !  Lanky  acted  like  a 
hero  that  day,  and  would  have  demolished  his  enemy,  but  I 
held  him  back.  Strange  how  vivid  all  is !  And  now  the 
clownish  boy  is  married  to  the  crying  girl ;  and  a  new 
generation  thrusts  the  schoolmaster  aside,  and  bestows  its 
trust  on  the  scholars.  That 's  what  I  call  the  long  result  of 
time — and  I  think  my  mustache  is  growing  gray !" 


422  HESHY    ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAK. 

The  jovial  soldier  laughed  as  he  spoke,  but  he  sighed,  too. 
There  is  no  one  biit  feels,  at  times,  this  regret  for  the  past 
— who  does  not  gild  thus  the  days  that  are  dead  ? 

"  Well,  well,  tnon  ami,"  added  the  soldier,  "  all  that 's 
gone,  and  the  new  days  are  here — also  a  new  generation. 
Let  us  act,  and  not  meditate.  We  're  to  meet  in  the  morn 
ing  at  Banks'  cross-roads,  where,  formerly,  I  encountered 
William  Effingham,  Esq.  Well,  I  think  there  '11  be  a  real 
fight  this  time — if  not  at  the  cross-roads,  elsewhere.  Let 
us  hope  so,"  and  the  friends  rode  on  through  the  moonlight. 


CHAPTER    LXXVII. 

A     YOUNG     SPY. 

THE  last  person  to  leave  the  school  house  was  Uncle  Jim 
my  Doubleday,  and  the  old  schoolmaster  saw  that  all  was 
secure  before  he  departed. 

He  tried  all  the  shutters,  set  back  the  benches,  and, 
finally,  took  the  light  and  proceeded  toward  the  door. 

It  was  just  at  this  moment  that  a  voice  behind  him  made 
him  suddenly  start : 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Jimmy !  Uncle  Jimmy !  do  n't  lock  me  in !" 
said  the  voice,  and  Mr.  Paul  Effingham  appeared  from  be 
hind  a  desk  in  the  corner  where  this  worthy  had  concealed 
himself. 

"  You !"  said  Uncle  Jimmy,  holding  up  his  hands,  "  you 
here,  sir  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  Uncle  Jimmy.  Was  it  wrong  ?  I  'm  a  patriot, 
you  know,  and  wanted  to  hear,"  and  Mr.  Paul  approached 
the  pedagogue  with  a  winning  smile,  bent  upon  obtaining  a 
full  pardon. 

As  for  Uncle  Jimmy,  he  gazed  with  austere  surprise  upon 
the  youthful  patriot,  and  then,  shaking  his  head — 

"  Young  man,"  he  said,  "  what  impelled  you  to  this  highly 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  423 

reprehensible  course  ?  Young  man,  what  did  you  do  it  for  ? 
More  than  one  man  and  boy  have  hung  for  being  spies. 
What,  sir,  was  your  object  ?" 

"  I  'm  a  patriot,  you  know,  Uncle  Jimmy,"  said  the  young 
spy,  "  and  Jim  Crow  told  me  you  all  were  to  meet  here." 

"  You  were  present  all  the  time  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  your  parents !  your  parents !  young  man,  who  are 
now  anxious  about  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  often  ride  out  in  the  evening,  and  it 's  not  late. 
You  know,  Uncle  Jimmy,  I  was  bound  to  know  every  thing, 
I  was.  I  'm  a  patriot,"  and  Mr.  Paul  assumed  a  wheedling 
smile  which  made  Uncle  Jimmy  turn  aside  his  head  and 
smile,  too. 

"  Young  man,"  he  said,  turning  again,  with  austere  dig 
nity,  to  Paul,  "you  have  acted  with  extraordinary  freedom 
on  this  occasion.  If  I  do  not  punish  you,  't  'is  from  regard 
for  your  worthy  parents.  Go,  sir,  and  be  home  immedi 
ately;  as  for  our  affairs,  we  can  trust  you,  and  let  me 
never — " 

"  Trust  me,  Uncle  Jimmy  !"  cried  Paul,  raising  his  head  ; 
"  I  should  say  you  can !  I  'm  the  captain  of  the  Cornstalk 
regiment,  sir — I  am !"  and  Paul  placed  his  hand  upon  his 
left  hip  with  great  dignity. 

"Well,  my  child,"  said  Uncle  Jimmy,  much  mollified, 
"I  doubt  not  'tis  a  patriotic  company.  Go,  now,  and 
never  repeat  this  indiscretion." 

"  I  'm  going  right  off.  Shag's  tied  under  an  oak  in  the 
woods,"  said  Paul ;  "  but  I  say,  Uncle  Jimmy." 

"  Well,  my  boy  ?" 

"  Is  Banks'  cross-roads  the  place  of  meeting  ?" 

"  Yes,  why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"I  just  wanted  to  know,"  said  Paul,  mysteriously. 
"  Good  night,  Uncle  Jimmy.  I'm  very  much  obliged  to 
you  for  the  holiday  to-morrow ;  we  all  are,  and  Blossom 
says  you  're  very  good." 

"  She  certainly  is,  Paul." 


424  HTENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  Paul,  putting  on  his  hat ;  "  she 's  a 
real  patriot,  she  is.  Our  union,  Uncle  Jimmy,  will  be  a 
happy  one,  and  you  shall  be  invited.  Now  good  night,  sir." 
With  these  words  Mr.  Paul  bowed  with  dignity,  and,  with 
extreme  ceremony,  disappeared. 

Uncle  Jimmy  looked  after  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  a 
smile  diffused  itself  over  the  old  features. 

"  Oh,  he 's  a  proud  one,  is  Paul,"  said  Uncle  Jimmy. 
"  With  what  an  air  he  touched  his  little  hat !  how  high  he 
carried  his  head  !  how  grand  he  walked  !  That  boy  would 
march  into  the  cannon's  mouth,  I  think !  I  have  never 
seen  his  equal." 

Having  thus  expressed  his  admiration,  Uncle  Jimmy 
locked  the  school  house  and  proceeded  homeward.  The 
forest  was  again  silent,  save  for  the  hooting  of  a  few  o\vls 
and  the  notes  of  the  whippoorwill,  and  the  moon  soared 
aloft  in  triumph. 


CHAPTER  LXXVIII. 

GENERAL    EFFINGHAM    IS   CARRIED    OFF   BY   A   CHARIOT. 

ON  the  morning  after  the  nocturnal  meeting,  and  about 
ten  o'clock,  a  company  of  youths,  some  twenty  or  thirty  in 
number,  were  assembled  in  a  glade  of  the  forest,  not  far 
from  Banks'  cross-roads. 

A  huge  oak  stretched  its  wide  arms  over  their  heads,  and 
a  hamper,  containing  a  variety  of  eatables,  was  reposing  on 
the  mossy  roots  of  the  oak. 

It  was  the  spot  where  in  former  times  the  old  Cornstalk 
regiment  had  paraded,  and  pic-niced — where  the  noble  sol 
diers  had  been  cheered  by  the  presence  of  the  fair — where 
Mr.  Crow  gamboled — where  the  drum-head  court  martial 
had  been  rapidly  dispersed  by  the  inspiriting  notes  of  the 
Bowling  Green  banjo. 


HEXRT  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  425 

That  was  a  peaceful  parade,  however,  and  the  only  fatal 
weapons  were  the  eyes  of  Kate  Effingham  and  her  friends — 
the  only  victims,  Master  Willie,  and  his  rival,  Tom  Alston. 

But,  since  the  good  year  of  '65,  many  things  had  taken 
place,  and  now  the  great  Cornstalk  regiment  assembled 
anew,  Avith  far  other  designs  than  peaceful  festivals. 

Master  Paul  Effingham  stood  upon  a  stump  and  harangued 
his  followers.  His  remarks  were  to  the  effect  that  at  last 
the  day  of  liberty  had  dawned,  that  Virginians  would  never 
be  slaves,  and  to  prevent  this  result  he  besought  his  associ 
ates  to  enter  into  the  war  with  vigor. 

A  cheer  greeted  these  observations,  and  the  youthful  fol 
lowers  of  the  young  patriot  rallied  round  him,  and  declared 
that  they  were  ready. 

They  were  of  all  ages  under  fifteen  and  above  eight,  and 
were  armed  with  old  guns,  which  were  far  too  heavy  for 
them,  and  should  have  been  left  at  home  for  their  fathers, 
from  whom  the  weapons  had  been  filched. 

Captain  Effingham  formed  his  men  into  a  line,  and  then 
separated  this  line  into  companies  of  three. 

Then  the  order  was  given  to  march — upon  the  hamper. 

The  soldiers  obeyed  this  order,  acquiescing,  apparently,  in 
the  opinion  of  their  chief,  that  before  they  joined  the  forces 
marching  on  "Williamsburg,  nature  would  call  for  refresh 
ment. 

Guns  were  therefore  abandoned,  hats  cast  on  the  ground, 
and  the  Cornstalk  regiment  attacked  the  hamper  with  great 
valor. 

In  fifteen  minutes  the  basket  was  emptied,  and  turned 
with  its  top  iipon  the  ground. 

Captain  Effingham  finished  a  bun  with  dignity,  and  or 
dered  his  men  to  their  arms.  The  ranks  were  immediately 
formed,  Captain  Effingham  made  another  speech,  and  then 
the  noble  regiment,  full  of  ardor  and  patriotism,  set  forward, 
at  a  quick  step,  toward  Banks'  cross-roads. 

But  alas !  for  the  designs  of  the  patriots.  They  had  just 
reached  the  highway,  and  were  marching  in.  fine  order, 


426  HENEY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAH. 

when  a  chariot  rolled  toward  them,  and  this  chariot,  when 
it  reached  a  point  just  abreast  of  them,  suddenly  paused. 

Captain  Paul  gave  the  order  to  present  arms,  which  was 
obeyed  with  soldierly  precision. 

But  alas ! 

From  the  window  of  the  chariot,  a  fair  head  was  thrust, 
and  Master  Paul  recognized  his  mother. 

The  young  patriot's  countenance  fell,  and  his  chin  sub 
sided  on  his  breast.  Arrested,  thus,  in  his  march,  the  regi 
ment  trod  upon  his  heels. 

"  Oh,  Paul !"  said  Madame  Clare,  "  where  in  the  world 
are  you  going  ?" 

"To  fight  the  enemy,  mamma,"  returned  Paul,  with  a 
groan.  "  We  are  going  to  Banks'  cross-roads,  the  place  of 
meeting." 

"  Oh,  my  son,  what  an  idea !"  said  his  mother.  "  How 
could  you  ?" 

"  A  patriot  must  do  his  duty,  mamma,"  said  Paul,  rue 
fully. 

"  Yes,  my  son,"  said  his  mother ;  "  but  you  are  much 
too  young.  You  distress  me  very  much  by  these  freaks, 
Paul !  Come,  now,  and  do  not  make  me  feel  badly.  Come 
into  the  carriage,  and  go  home,  my  son." 

It  was  long  before  Paul  would  consent  to  this,  and  more 
than  one  "  noble  tear,"  as  says  the  poet,  bedewed  his  youth 
ful  eyes  at  his  disappointment.  Had  the  command  come 
from  any  other  than  his  own  mother,  it  is  probable  that 
Captain  Paul  would  have  summoned  his  men  to  the  rescue ; 
but  it  was  the  voice  of  a  beloved  parent  which  besought 
him ;  it  was  the  wish  of  one  to  whom  he  had  ever  paid  obe 
dience  which  arrested  him.  He  turned  a  last  look  of  agony 
on  his  soldiers,  and  obeyed. 

"  About,  face  !  my  friends,"  said  Captain  Paul,  with  dig 
nity.  "  The  commands  of  our  superiors  must  be  obeyed. 
It  is  proper  that,  as  your  captain,  I  should  set  you  the  ex 
ample  of  obedience,  and  I  must  leave.  Tom  Jones,  you  can 
march  the  regiment  back,"  with  which  words  Captain  Paul 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  427 

slowly  entered  the  carriage,  and,  we  regret  to  say,  cried  as 
it  drove  away. 

Once  deprived  of  their  noble  and  courageous — once  left 
alone  without  him  who  was  the  soul  of  their  action — once 
paralyzed  thus,  and  left  desolate — the  Cornstalk  regiment 
no  longer  aspired ;  they  no  longer  had  the  heart  to  march 
forward  ;  they  disbanded,  broke  into  groups,  and  went  off 
to  play  at  something  else  than  "  soldiering." 

The  battle  was  not  to  have  them  in  its  tumult. 

I  have  paused  thus,  our  worthy  author  says,  on  the  very 
brink  of  great  events  to  relate  this  little  comedy  of  the  past. 
Why  not  ?  It  is  not  only  in  the  immense  events  of  history 
that  the  thoughtful  mind  looks  to  see  the  picture  of  the 
times.  The  coloring  of  the  bud  is  often  brighter  and  more 
delicate  than  that  of  the  flower.  What  I  aim  at  in  my 
chronicle  is  a  picture  of  the  minds  of  men  in  old  days.;  the 
movements  of  boys  even  arrest  and  absorb  me.  What 
I  've  told  is  a  veritable  incident,  and  I  think  it  is  worthy  of 
our  notice.  The  child  is  the  germ  of  the  man,  and,  just  as 
the  character  of  the  seed  determines  the  plant,  so  does  the 
character  of  the  boy  make  the  gray  beard's.  The  children 
whom  we  have  seen  thus  ardently  on  their  march  were 
those  who  nursed  the  young  republic  in  its  infancy — who 
braced  their  arms  around  it  in  the  storm  which  came  across 
the  seas  to  shake  it.  They  stood  around  its  cradle  like  a 
phalanx  of  steel-clad  warriors,  and  some  of  them  fought  for 

it  at  Yorktown.  At  sixteen,  my  friend  Judge  B *  was 

captain  of  a  company ;  and  almost  before  the  beard  of  man 
hood  decked  his  face,  our  noble  Washington  was  in  charge 
of  the  whole  border.  The  mind  ripened  quickly  in  those 
days,  and  bloomed  early ;  it  was  a  noble,  and  chivalrous, 
and  high  nature  which  thus  filled  the  breasts  of  children. 
The  roar  of  revolution  made  them  old  ;  they  were  educated 
by  Henry  and  Washington  !  For  myself,  there  is  nothing 
connected  with  that  period  void  of  interest.  I  listen  to 

*  The  author  here  seems  to  refer  to  the  late  venerable  Judge  Francis 
Brooke,  of  the  Court  of  Appeals. 


428  HENHY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

the  great  voices  in  council ;  I  listen  to  the  voices  of  the 
striplings,  too.  I  see  the  great  look  on  the  stern  brow  of 
the  warrior ;  I  see,  also,  the  flush  on  the  cheeks  of  the  boys. 
In  the  great  panorama  of  the  revolutionary  story  there  is  no 
figure  unworthy  of  attention.* 


CHAPTER    LXXIX. 

THE    MARCH    OF    THE    HANOVERIANS   ON  "WTLLIAMSBURG. 

THE  removal  of  the  gunpowder  from  the  magazine  in 
Witliamsburg  sent  a  thrill  of  indignation  throughout  Vir 
ginia. 

It  was  the  Tast  and  crowning  outrage — the  keystone  fin 
ishing  the  arch  of  oppression — the  final  blow  at  those 
liberties  which  so  long  had  been  insidiously  attacked  by 
Dunmore. 

In  every  county  the  inhabitants  hastened  to  pass  resolu 
tions  upon  the  outrage.  Many  of  these  have  been  preserved 
— others  lost,  or  not  recorded ;  but  what  we  have  are 
enough  to  show  the  spirit  of  the  period. 

Amelia  county,  William  Archer,  chairman,  resolved, 
first,  on  a  general  muster  of  the  militia ;  next,  that  each 
member  of  the  committee  should  provide  "  half  a  pound  of 
gunpowder  and  one  pound  of  lead,  a  stand  of  arms  and  am 
munition  ;"  and  John  Tabb  and  Everard  Meade  were  ap 
pointed  to  purchase  "  eight  hundred  pounds  of  gunpowder 
and  three  thousand  two  hundred  pounds  of  lead."  Thus 
Amelia  alone  furnished  to  the  cause  more  powder  than  the 
magazine  had  contained  when  it  was  robbed. 

New  Kent  county  resolved  that  the  removal  of  the  pow 
der  was  "  arbitrary,"  the  governor's  answer  "  evasive,"  that 
the  rest  of  his  lordship's  conduct  proved  him  "  an  enemy 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XXXIX. 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  429 

of  liberty  and  a  zealous  supporter  of  tyranny  and  despotism 
over  the  people  who  had  the  unhappiness  to  live  under  his 
government."  To  this  was  added  a  resolution  to  raise  in 
stantly  a  company. 

Gloucester  county  declared  the  reply  of  the  governor 
"  unsatisfactory,  disrespectful,  and  evasive,"  and  offered 
twenty-five  pounds  sterling  for  three  hundred  pounds  of 
gunpowder  manufactured  in  Virginia ;  fifty  pounds  sterling 
for  manufactures  of  woolen. 

JZing  William  county  contributed  one  hundred  and 
seventy-five  pounds  to  the  suffering  citizens  of  Massachu 
setts. 

Sussex  county  declared  the  removal  of  the  powder  "  an 
act  conceived  in  secrecy  and  brought  forth  in  darkness," 
and  that  the  governor,  by  his  action,  had  "  forfeited  all  title 
to  the  confidence  of  the  good  people  of  Virginia."  The 
members  of  the  meeting  promised  to  use  every  endeavor  to 
enlist  volunteers. 

Bedford  county  offered  ten  pounds  sterling  for  twenty- 
five  pounds  of  sulphur. 

Prince  George  county  organized  a  committee  of  intelli 
gence,  whose  duty  it  was  to  communicate  with  other  coun 
ties. 

Henrico  county  declared  the  removal  of  the  powder  "  an 
insult  to  every  freeman  in  this  county" — an  action  which 
they  viewed  with  "  detestation  and  abhorrence." 

Albemarle  county  spoke,  in  a  letter,  of  the  independent 
company,  to  Colonel  Washington  : 

"  The  company  of  Independents,"  they  said,  "  will  attend 
in  Williamsburg  properly  equipped  and  prepared  to  enforce 
an  immediate  delivery  of  the  powder,  if  not  to  be  obtained 
otherwise,  or  die  in  the  attempt."  The  captain  of  the  com 
pany  signed  hjs  name  Charles  Lewis. 

These  old  leaves  of  the  past  have  been  preserved  for  us ; 
the  action  of  the  other  counties  is  lost.  What  it  was  we 
know  perfectly,  for  the  whole  land  was  in  arms,  and  the 
Valley  especially,  on  fire.  Old  Frederick,  ever  the  fore- 


430  HENRY   ST.  JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

most  where  the  issue  was  one  of  blood,  became  the  rally 
ing  point  for  the  companies  of  the  West.  For  half  a 
century,  nearly,  the  town  of  Winchester  had  been  the 
heart  of  the  West — the  sentinel  of  liberty — and  Washing 
ton  had  lived  there,  sending  from  this  center  his  voice  of 
good  cheer  to  the  whole  border.  It  was  now  to  be  the 
rendezvous  of  men  bent  on  attacking  another  enemy  than 
the  savages — to  send  forth  its  blood  as  before. 

Fredericksburg  lastly  took  that  action  which  has  made 
her  so  famous — surrounding  her  brows  with  a  halo  of 
glory.  The  men  of  Fredericksburg  declared  that  they 
were  prepared  to  defend  the  liberties  of  Virginia,  and  of 
her  sister  colonies,  "  at  the  utmost  hazard  of  ourselves  and 
our  fortunes."  And  at  the  bottom  of  this  declaration  was 
written  in  large  letters,  "  GOD  SAVE  THE  LIBERTIES  OF 
AMERICA  !" 

A  week  after  the  removal  of  the  powder,  seven  hundred 
men,  completely  equipped,  were  assembled  at  Fredericks- 
burg,  ready  to  march  upon  the  capital.  Among  these 
were  the  "  Culpepper  Minute  Men,"  in  their  green  hunting 
shirts,  hats  crowned  with  buck-tails,  and  belts  stuck  round 
with  tomahawks  and  knives.  On  their  breasts  were  in 
scribed,  in  white  letters,  Henry's  words,  "LIBERTY  OR 
DEATH  ;"  and  their  banner  had  for  device,  a  coiled  up 
rattlesnake,  with  the  words  "Don't  tread  on  me!"  be 
neath. 

Thus  the  whole  State  was  fully  aroused,  and  the  East 
and  West  ready  to  march ;  when  a  dispatch  from  Mr. 
Randolph  of  the  council  reached  Fredericksburg. 

This  letter  declared  that  his  Excellency  had  solemnly 
promised  that  the  affair  of  the  powder  should  be  fully 
accommodated. 

The  deliberation  of  the  volunteers,  upon  the  reception  of 
this  letter,  was  long  and  excited  ;  and  when  the  vote  was 
taken,  opinions  were  found  to  be  nearly  equally  divided. 
At  first,  the  men  were  fixed  in  their  original  purpose  ;  and 
the  fourteen  companies  of  light  horse,  then  encamped  near 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  431 

at  hand,  were  ardently  expecting  the  order  to  march. 
Peace  counsels  prevailed  finally,  however,  by  a  single  vote, 
and  expresses  were  sent  off  to  Caroline,  Frederick,  Berke 
ley,  Shenandoah,  and  other  counties,  to  inform  them  of  the 
arrangement. 

The  volunteers  then  dispersed,  entering  into  a  mutual 
pledge  to  be  ready  at  a  moment's  warning,  whenever  the 
standard  was  raised. 

That  moment  was  not  delayed. 

The  troops  separated  on  the  29th  of  April.  On  the  2d 
of  May,  Patrick  Henry  summoned  the  Independent  Com 
pany  of  Hanover,  to  meet  him  at  New  Castle,  on  the 
Pamunkey,  in  the  same  county. 

Henry  had  seen,  with  bitter  regret,  the  action  of  the 
troops  on  the  reception  of  the  letter  conveying  the  false 
promises  of  Dunmore — he  had  estimated  those  promises  at 
their  just  value — he  saw  with  anguish  that  the  moment 
when  the  whole  land  was  aroused,  was  likely  to  pass  by 
unimproved. 

He,  too,  had  hailed  the  affair  of  the  powder  as  an  in 
valuable  blessing  to  the  cause  in  which  his  whole  soul  was 
wrapped.  For  ten  years  he  had  been  endeavoring  to 
arouse  Virginia  to  armed  resistance,  and  thus,  Dunmore  in 
committing  this  robbery,  had  cooperated  with  him,  and 
aided  him.  But  now  this  same  man  was  about  to  disarm, 
with  a  promise,  those  men  whom  he  had  armed  by  an  out 
rage.  A  smile  and  a  promise  which  he  never  intended  to 
keep,  would  delay  the  attack  until  an  overwhelming  force 
was  marched  into  Virginia. 

Henry  had  thus  no  sooner  heard  of  the  action  at  Fred- 
ericksburg,  as  we  have  said,  than  he  hastened  to  assemble 
the  men  of  Hanover.  To  give  more  solemnity  to  his  act, 
he  also  convened  the  county  committee  which  had  just 
separated. 

They  assembled  in  mass  at  his  summons,  and  the  orator 
addressed  them  with  all  the  powers  of  his  wonderful  elo 
quence.  In  his  burning  words,  the  fields  of  Concord  and 


432  HENKY  ST.   JOHN",   GENTLEMAN. 

Lexington  rose  vividly  before  the  auditors,  floating  in  the 
blood  of  Americans  ;  with  passionate  vehemence  he  stripped 
from  the  ministerial  designs  their  garb  of  concealment,  of 
specious  promises  and  protestations,  and  showed  them  in  all 
their  deformity.  He  declared  that  now  or  never — when 
this  last  outrage  of  Dunmore  was  still  hot  in  the  minds  of 
all — that  now  or  never  the  blow  must  be  struck.  He  ended 
by  asking  who  would  accompany  him  to  Williamsburg,  to 
demand  the  restoration  of  the  powder. 

"  The  meeting  was  in  a  flame,"  says  the  historian  ;  "  and 
Captain  Samuel  Meredith  resigning  the  command  of  the 
Independents,  Henry  was  unanimously  chosen  their  leader, 
Captain  Meredith  taking  the  post  of  lieutenant." 

The  company  consisted  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  men, 
and  at  once  commenced  its  march  for  Williamsburg. 

Forty-eight  hours  afterward  the  news  spread  like  wild-fire, 
and  five  thousand  men  were  on  their  way  to  join  Henry. 

Let  us  not  anticipate,  however. 

A  body  of  sixteen  men,  under  command  of  Colonel  Parke 
Goodall,  ensign  of  the  "  Independents,"  was  detached  across 
the  river  into  the  county  of  King  and  Queen,  to  demand 
from  the  king's  receiver-general,  there  residing,  the  value 
of  the  powder,  about  three  hundred  pounds  sterling. 

There  is  no  reason  to  believe  that  Colonel  Richard  Cor- 
bin,  the  receiver-general,  was  opposed  to  the  cause  of 
liberty.  Doubtless,  like  many  others,  it  so  happened  that 
he  held  an  office  under  the  vice-regal  government  at  this 
crisis,  and  hoped  for  a  peaceful  redress  of  grievances. 

The  orders  to  Colonel  Goodall  were  to  demand  the  value 
of  the  powder,  and,  if  this  were  refused,  to  take  Colonel 
Corbin  prisoner,  and  bring  him  "  with  all  possible  respect 
and  tenderness,"  to  Doncastle's  Ordinary,  about  sixteen 
miles  above  Williamsburg. 

The  detachment  crossed  the  river  on  the  same  afternoon, 
about  twilight,  and  proceeded  toward  "  Laneville"  on  the 
Matapony,  the  residence  of  the  receiver,  which  they  reached 
nearly  at  midnight. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN",   GENTLEMAN.  433 

Colonel  Goodall,  with  that  courtesy  which  characterized 
the  men  of  his  period,  determined  not  to  arouse  the  family 
until  daybreak,  reflecting  that  this  nocturnal  assault  upon 
ladies  in  their  beds  would  be  exceedingly  terrifying.  He 
therefore  stationed  guards  around  the  dwelling,  and  calmly 
waited  for  the  daylight. 

At  daybreak,  the  ladies  of  the  family  appeared,  not  with 
out  terror  at  the  sight  of  the  patrol,  and  to  the  courteous 
demand  of  the  colonel,  replied,  that  the  receiver  was  in 
Williamsburg.  If  this  declaration  was  doubted,  however, 
the  house,  they  said,  was  open  to  a  search. 

Colonel  Good  all  replied  courteously  that  such  a  proceeding 
was  wholly  unnecessary  ;  that  Mrs.  Corbin's  assurance  was 
enough.  And  then,  without  taking  the  proffered  refresh 
ments,  ordered  his  men  to  continue  their  way  to  the  Ordi 
nary,  where  they  were  to  join  Henry. 

The  main  body  had  proceeded  through  Hanover,  and  a 
portion  of  New  Kent,  passing  by  the  church  of  St.  Peter 
and  the  old  Custis  mansion,  called  the  "  White  House," 
where  Washington  was  married,  and  ever  increasing  as 
they  rolled  on  like  a  flood,  had  reached  finally  Doncastle's 
Ordinary. 

Here  at  this  tavern,  which  was  also  in  New  Kent,  near 
the  boundaries  of  James  City,  Colonel  Goodall  joined  his 
chief;  and  here  the  company  halted  to  refresh  themselves. 


CHAPTER    LXXX. 

THE     MEETING     AT     DONCASTLE'S      ORDINARY. 

AT  the  moment  when  Colonel  Patrick  Henry  arrived 
with  his  troop  in  front  of  Doncastle's  Ordinary,  the  com 
pany  commanded  by  Captain  John  Hamilton  made  their 
appearance,  at  full  gallop,  coming  to  meet  them. 

19 


434  HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

In  a  few  moments  the  two  troops  had  dismounted — a  host 
of  negroes  ran  to  bait  their  weary  horses — and  the  men  of 
Colonel  Henry  and  Captain  Hamilton,  respectively,  pro 
ceeded  to  fraternize  and  exchange  congratulations. 

Our  friend  Captain  Waters  and  Colonel  Henry  seemed  to 
be  old  acquaintances.  They  exchanged  a  hearty  greeting, 
and  the  captain  seemed  in  high  spirits. 

"  The  sight  of  you  is  really  good  for  sore  eyes,  my  dear 
colonel,"  he  said ;  "  morbleu !  I  think  the  cards  at  last 
shuffled  and  dealt !  What 's  the  number  of  your  men  ?" 

"  About  two  hundred  only,  captain,"  said  Colonel  Henry, 
drawing  round  him  his  inseparable  old  red  cloak ;  "  but  five 
thousand  I  'm  told  are  marching  to  join  us." 

"Five  thousand!  why,  an  army!  a  host!  With  that 
many,  my  dear  friend,  we  will  blow  his  Excellency  sky 
high." 

"  Yes,  I  think  we  could  drive  him  away." 

"  '  Could  !'     What  do  you  mean,  colonel  ?" 

" '  Will,'  then,— if— if— unfortunately" — 

"  If?"  said  the  captain  anxiously.  "  I  'm  afraid  of  that 
little  word  '  iff  friend." 

"  So  am  I,  captain." 

"  What  does  it  mean  in  your  mouth,  man  ami?  speak !" 

"  Well,  I  meant  to  say  that  the  result  of  our  march 
would  probably  be  the  rout  of  his  Excellency  and  his 
adherents — if  he  does  not  defeat  us  by  paying  for  the 
powder." 

And  Colonel  Henry's  face  assumed  its  old  grim  smile  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Paying,"  cried  Captain  Waters,  "  paying  for  the  pow 
der  !» 

"  Yes,  captain." 

"  Why,  that  would  be  dishonest !  it  would  be  illegal,  my 
dear  colonel!"  cried  his  companion.  "Here  this  fellow 
Dunmore  first  robs  us  of  our  property  and  then  has  the  au 
dacity  to  offer  us  the  value  of  the  stolen  goods !  You 
can't  think  of  accepting  such  an  offer !" 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  435 

"  I  fear  I  must." 

"Must!  why?" 

"  The  colony  would  not  sustain  me  in  refusing.  I  should 
simply  be  deposed  from  my  command,  and  the  only  result 
would  be  that  some  one  else's  signature  would  be  appended 
to  the  receipt.  I  'm  not  a  free  agent,  captain.  Colonel 
Carter  Braxton  left  me,  some  hours  since,  for  Williamsbui'g, 
and  I  promised  to  wait  a  certain  time  for  him  to  go  and  re 
turn  ;  you  know,  Colonel  Corbin,  the  receiver,  is  his  relative. 
Now  he  '11  come,  I  predict,  and  bring  the  money." 

The  captain's  head  drooped. 

"  What  you  say,  my  friend,"  he  muttered,  mournfully, 
"  has  caused  me  the  very  keenest  anguish.  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  result  will  be  the  escape  of  the  wolf,  just  when  the 
chase  is  hi  full  burst !" 

"Exactly,  captain." 

The  captain  remained  thoughtful  for  a  moment  and 
sighed.  He  seemed  really  overcome. 

"  And  so  your  parole  is  given  to  Colonel  Braxton,  is  it  ?" 
he  said. 

"  Yes ;  but  in  less  than  an  hour  I  shall  be  released." 

"Released?" 

"  The  time  fixed  for  his  return  will  expire  then,  captain. 
If  he  did  not  bring  the  money  then,  I  told  him,  I  should 
march." 

"  You  would  march  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly." 

"  And  in  less  than  an  hour." 

The  colonel  nodded. 

"  Morbleu  /"  cried  the  captain,  "  you  delight  me,  my 
dear  colonel!  Then  I'll  have  my  good  bout  with  Foy 
yet." 

«  With  Foy  ?" 

"  With  Mr.  Secretary  Foy.  You  see,  my  dear  friend, 
't  is  a  little  arrangement  between  us  that,  at  the  first  open 
hostilities,  our  swords  shall  cross.  I'm  positively  sick 
for  the  encounter,  and  now,  since  you  assure  me  that  you 


436  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

march  in  an  hour,  I  think  the  chances  are  favorable  for  the 
bout !» 

Colonel  Henry  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"  I  have  a  presentiment,  captain,"  he  said,  "  that  Colonel 
Braxton  will  return  in  time.  He  said  the  money  would  be 
paid,  and  he  'd  only  to  go  for  it,  and  you  know  he 's  a  man 
of  his  word." 

As  these  words  were  uttered  in  a  melancholy  tone,  an 
expression  of  deep  disappointment  came  to  the  captain's 
face. 

"  He'll  return  with  the  money." 

"  I  'm  sure  of  it." 

"  Then  all 's  lost !"  and  the  captain  let  his  chin  fall  on  his 
breast.  He  remained  motionless  and  frowning  for  some 
moments ;  but  suddenly  his  frown  disappeared,  his  head 
rose: 

"  My  dear  colonel,"  he  cried,  "  you  made  Colonel  Brax 
ton  a  promise ;  will  you  make  me  one,  too  ?" 

"  A  promise  ?    "What  is  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  't  is  nothing  unreasonable,  my  small  request.  Mor- 
bleu  !  't  is  most  fair." 

"  Speak,  captain." 

"  Do  you  wish  valid  payment  for  the  powder  if  you  are 
compelled  to  receive  payment  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

"  Then  promise  me  that  you  '11  only  receive  gold  or  Bank 
of  England  notes — no  promises  of  payment  of  any  descrip 
tion  from  either  his  Excellency,  or  the  receiver,  or  Colonel 
Braxton." 

Colonel  Henry  reflected,  and  the  captain  watched  the  ex 
pression  of  his  countenance  with  the  deepest  anxiety. 

"  Well,"  said  the  colonel,  "  I  see  no  objection  to  prom 
ising  that,  and  I  certainly  shall  refuse  any  promissory 
notes." 

"  Good  !"  cried  the  captain  ;  "  and  now,  my  dear  colonel, 
I  will  not  further  intrude  on  you.  I  see  my  friends  Hamil 
ton  and  Effingham  yonder  coming  to  talk  with  you." 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  437 

So  speaking,  the  captain  made  the  military  salute,  saun 
tered  easily  away,  and  went  out  of  the  Ordinary. 

He  had  no  sooner  reached  the  spot  where  his  horse  was 
tied,  however,  than,  leaping  into  the  saddle,  he  set  forward, 
at  full  speed,  on  the  road  to  Williamsburg. 


CHAPTER    LXXXI. 

THE  ROBBERY  OF  THE  COACH  OF  THE  KING'S  RECETVER- 
GENERAX. 

JUST  an  hour  before  the  interview  which,  we  have  just  re 
lated,  a  chariot,  drawn  by  four  fresh  horses,  and  driven  at 
full  speed,  left  Williamsburg  by  the  road  leading  to  New 
Kent. 

The  speed  of  the  coach,  great  as  it  was,  however,  did  not 
seem  to  keep  pace  with  the  feelings  of  its  inmate. 

The  head  of  a  gentleman  about  forty  years  of  age,  wear 
ing  a  long  flaxen  peruke  and  ample  cocked  hat,  was  thrust 
from  the  window,  and  this  head  uttered,  in  an  impatient  and 
hurried  voice,  the  words, 

"  Faster !  faster !  make  the  horses  gallop !" 

The  driver  obeyed  and  laid  his  long  lash  on  the  backs  of 
the  horses. 

They  started  forward,  at  a  gallop,  and  the  coach  whirled 
along  through  the  fields  and  into  the  forest  with  fearful  ra 
pidity. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  the  speed  of  the  horses  began 
to  abate,  their  strength  to  flag.  The  coach  then  proceeded 
at  a  more  moderate  pace,  apparently  causing  the  gentleman 
within  great  impatience. 

He  took  from  his  pocket  some  papers,  however,  and 
examined  them  carefully.  Then  he  opened  a  large  pocket 
book  of  leather,  and  counted  some  notes  of  the  Bank  of 
England. 


438  HEXBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN". 

As  he  did  so,  he  heard,  or  thought  he  heard,  the  rapid 
foot-falls  of  a  horse  behind  the  carriage. 

He  thrust  his  head  from  the  window,  and  at  the  same 
moment  descried  a  horseman  who  rushed  rapidly  toward 
him,  and  drew  rein  beside  the  window. 

The  chariot  was  descending  a  gorge  in  the  forest  at 
the  moment,  and  had  moderated  still  further  its  headlong 
speed. 

The  stranger  drew  rein,  and  leaning  one  hand  on  the 
edge  of  the  window,  said, 

"Have  I  the  honor  to  speak  to  Colonel  Braxton  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  occupant  of  the  chariot ;  "  your  business, 
sir !" 

"  Order  the  coach  to  stop,  colonel." 

"  Impossible,  sir ;  I  am  on  urgent  public  business,  and  can 
not  tarry  for  a  moment." 

"  Still  it 's  necessary,  my  dear  colonel,"  said  the  enemy ; 
"give  the  order." 

"  I  '11  do  nothing  of  the  sort,  sir !"  cried  the  other ;  "  drive 
faster !» 

These  latter  words  were  directed  to  the  coachman,  who 
raised  his  whip  to  strike  the  horses.* 

Before  it  descended  the  cavalier  had  rushed  on  his  swift 
horse  to  the  head  of  the  animals,  and  catching  the  leaders  by 
the  bridle,  made  them  rear  and  start  sidewise. 

He  was  immediately  at  the  coach  window  again,  and  said, 
coolly, 

"  Now,  your  money,  my  dear  colonel." 

"  My  money  sir !  are  you  mad  ?"  cried  Colonel  Braxton, 
in  a  fury. 

"  No,  morbleu  /"  cried  the  enemy,  "  I  'm  perfectly  sane ! 
I  repeat  that  I  want  your  money,  my  d.ear  friend — not  your 
money  or  your  life,  as  the  highwaymen  say — but  the  sum 
which  you  bear  from  his  Excellency !" 

"  You  are  insane !"  cried  the  colonel,  shouting  to  the 
driver  to  lash  his  horses ;  "  you  shall  repent  this  outrage, 
sir!  begone!" 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  439 

The  horses  again  darted  forward,  but  the  cavalier  kept 
his  place  at  the  carriage  window. 

"  For  the  last  time,  your  money,  friend !"  he  said ;  "  mor- 
bleu,  I  shall  not  ask  you  again." 

"  You  intend  to  rob  me,  then  ?" 

"  Precisely." 

With  a  movement  as  rapid  as  lightning,  Colonel  Braxton 
thrust  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  the  coach  and  drew  forth 
a  pistol. 

He  leveled  the  weapon  at  his  enemy  and  discharged  it, 
the  bullet  passing  through  the  lappel  of  the  horseman's  sur- 
tout. 

"  Ah !  well !"  cried  that  gentleman,  "  you  '11  do  battle,  will 
you,  friend  ?  But  first  I  '11  secure  what  I  want." 

With  these  words  the  speaker  suddenly  extended  his 
hand  through  the  window  of  the  coach,  and  caught  from 
the  other's  grasp  the  three  or  four  hundred  pound  notes 
which  he  held. 

"  Now  friend,"  he  said,  "  this  will  suffice  I  I  had  some 
compunctions  about  proceeding  so  irregularly,  but  you 've  at 
tempted  my  life,  and  I  'm  quite  easy !  Do  n't  discharge 
another  pistol  at  me  as  I  go,  or  I  '11  imitate  you.  I  have 
two  in  my  holsters,  and  perhaps  I  shall  blow  out  your 
brains !" 

With  these  words  the  speaker  put  spur  to  his  horse,  and 
striking  the  coach  horses  as  he  passed,  disappeared  in  the 
forest. 

With  a  face  full  of  rage  and  amazement,  Colonel  Braxton 
was  borne  onward,  asking  himself  if  he  had  dreamed  this 
outrage — if  he  really  could  be  awake. 

"  Well,"  he  growled,  "  't  is  far  mere  important  to  arrive 
yonder  in  time,  and  I  can  easily  give  my  note  for  the  money. 
Lash  your  horses !" 

And  in  obedience  to  his  order  the  driver  again  struck  his 
animals,  which  rapidly  bore  the  vehicle  to  the  Ordinary. 

The  Hanover  company  and  the  rest  were  drawn  up  before 
the  door,  and  Colonel  Henry  was  just  issuing  forth  to  get 


440  HENKY  ST.  JOnX,  GENTLEMAN. 


into  the  saddle.  He  paused,  however,  as  the  chariot  flashed 
up. 

"  Ah  !  is  that  you,  colonel  ?"  he  said  ;  "  you  have  come  at 
last." 

"  Yes,"  said  Colonel  Braxton,  getting  out  of  the  chariot 
and  exchanging  a  grasp  of  the  hand  with  Henry,  "  I  have 
come,  on  the  part  of  his  lordship,  to  pay  for  the  powder." 

"To  pay!" 

"Yes,  its  full  value." 

A  grim  smile  came  to  the  face  of  Colonel  Henry,  and  he 
hesitated,  looking  at  his  men.  With  a  deep  sigh  he  seemed 
to  decide. 

"  I  am  told  we  '11  have  an  army  of  five  thousand  men  to 
morrow,"  he  said  ;  "  still  I  promised  to  take  the  money,  and 
I  must  take  it." 

With  these  words  Colonel  Henry  walked  into  the  Ordi 
nary,  followed  by  Colonel  Braxton. 

"  Pen  and  ink,  landlord,"  he  said  ;  "  of  course  I  shall  give 
a  receipt." 

"  I  must  first  premise  that  I  was  robbed  on  the  route 
hither,"  said  Colonel  Braxton.  And  he  related  the  scene 
on  the  road  to  Henry.  Some  of  the  company,  who  were  in 
the  room,  laughed  heartily,  and  the  same  grim  smile  reap 
peared  on  the  face  of  Henry. 

"In  truth,  he  must  have  been  a  madman,"  he  replied, 
"  and  what  you  have  said,  colonel,  materially  alters  the  face 
of  affairs." 

With  these  words  Colonel  Henry  laid  down  his  pen. 

"  Alters  affairs  ?"  asked  the  other  ;  "  how  is  that  ?" 

"  Why,  unfortunately,  I  gave  a  promise  no  later  than  half 
an  hour  ago,  that  I  would  take  only  gold  or  bank  bills  in 
payment.  'T  is  unfortunate,  my  dear  colonel,  but  the  prom 
ise  is  given." 

"To  whom  —  Heaven  preserve  us!"  cried  Colonel  Brax 
ton,  in  despair. 

"  To  a  friend  —  Captain  Waters  by  name." 

"  Tall  —  with  a  black  moustache  —  riding  a  black  Arabian  ?" 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  441 

"  Yes,  that  is  an  accurate  description  of  him." 

"  Why,  he  it  was  who  robbed  me  !" 

"  Possible !"  said  Colonel  Henry,  with  his  former  grim 
smile  ;  "  why,  my  dear  colonel,  he  is  a  gentleman  of  large 
landed  estate,  and  I  have  always  heard  that  he  was  honest." 

"I  say  'twas  he  !" 

"  Captain  Waters  ?" 

'    "Yes!  Colonel  Henry.    'Tis  a  deep-laid  conspiracy,  and 
the  object  of  this  gentleman  was  plainly  to  paralyze  me." 

"  If  so,  it  was  very  reprehensible  in  the  captain." 

And  the  same  sardonic  smile  wreathed  the  corners  of  the 
iron  mouth  of  Henry. 

"  Of  course  you  will  not  suffer  the  affair  to  affect  your 
action." 

"  Unfortunately  I  've  promised  to  take  gold  or  notes  only, 
colonel.  I  am  the  veriest  slave  of  my  word." 

"  You  then  refuse  my  own  obligation  for  the  powder  ?" 

"I  must — perforce." 

Colonel  Braxton  bit  his  lip,  and  looked  both  anxious  and 
irritated.  But  the  expression  of  pain  and  regret  predomi 
nated. 

"  Of  course,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  am  not  so  discourteous  as  to 
intimate  you  had  any  part  in  this.  Your  action,  however, 
supports  Captain  Waters'  outrage,  and  the  result  will  be 
blood." 

"It  is  unfortunate,"  said  Henry,  with  the  same  iron  calm 
ness,  and  buckling  on  his  sword. 

Colonel  Braxton  knit  his  brows  in  anguish,  and  remained 
thus  silent  and  gloomy  for  some  moments. 

Then  his  countenance  was  suddenly  illumined  with  joy, 
and  he  hastened  to  his  chariot,  and  immediately  returned 
with  a  small  leather  portmanteau. 

From  this  portmanteau  he  drew  a  roll  of  bank  notes. 

"  It  is  most  fortunate,  colonel,"  he  said  to  Henry,  "  that 
the  events  of  the  last  few  days  have  caused  me  so  much 
concern.    I  brought  this  money  to  Williamsburg  to  make  a 
payment  on  my  own  private  account,  and  such  was  my  pre- 
19* 


442  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

occupation  that  I  quite  forgot  it  until  this  moment.  I  now 
offer  you,  on  the  part  of  his  Excellency,  three  hundred  and 
thirty  pounds  in  Bank  of  England  notes,  in  payment  for  the 
powder.  There,  colonel." 

And  he  laid  the  notes  on  the  table. 

Colonel  Henry  thereupon  sat  down,  and  spreading  a  large 
sheet  of  paper  before  him,  wrote  the  following  receipt : 

t 

"  Doncastle's  Ordinary,  New  ITent,  May  4,  1775.  Re 
ceived  from  the  Hon.  Richard  Corbin,  Esq.,  his  Majesty's 
Receiver-General,  330£,  as  a  compensation  for  the  gunpow 
der  lately  taken  out  of  the  public  magazine  by  the  Govern 
or's  order,  which  money  I  promise  to  convey  to  the  Virginia 
delegates  at  the  general  congress,  to  be,  under  their  direc 
tion,  laid  out  in  gunpowder  for  the  colony's  use,  and  to  be 
stored  as  they  shall  direct  until  the  next  colony  convention 
or  general  assembly,  unless  it  shall  be  necessary,  in  the  mean 
time,  to  use  the  same  in  the  defense  of  this  colony.  It  is 
agreed  that,  in  case  the  next  convention  shall  determine 
that  any  part  of  the  said  money  ought  to  be  returned  to  his 
Majesty's  said  Receiver-General,  that  the  same  shall  be  done 
accordingly. 

"  PATRICK  HENRY,  Jun. 

"  Test. — SAMUEL  MEREDITH,  PARKS  GOODALL." 

Colonel  Henry  had  scarcely  affixed  his  signature  to  this 
paper,  when  the  hoof-strokes  of  a  horse  resounded  on  the 
road  before  the  tavern,  and  the  next  moment  Captain  Wat 
ers  entered  the  apartment,  his  spurs  jingling  and  his  lips 
smiling. 

At  sight  of  the  money,  however,  and  the  receipt  which 
Colonel  Braxton  raised  from  the  table  and  folded,  this  ex 
pression  suddenly  changed. 

"  The  money 's  paid !"  he  cried ;  "  you  do  n't  say  the  pow 
der  is  paid  for,  my  friends !" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Colonel  Braxton,  with  an  angry  flush  ; 
"  and  your  outrage  has  failed — your  robbery,  sir  " 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  443 

The  captain  was  so  much  overwhelmed  by  this  failure  of 
his  scheme  that  he  scarcely  heard  the  angry  words  addressed 
to  him. 

His  head  drooped,  his  hands  fell  at  his  side,  and  from  his 
lips  escaped  the  sorrowful  words, 

"  Then  Foy  and  myself  will  not  meet !" 

The  captain  sighed,  and  looked  around  mournfully. 

"  Ah  !  well !"  he  said  at  length,  "  I  '11  not  be  cast  down  ! 
What 's  not  to-day  may  be  to-morrow !  Let  us  wait !" 

Then  turning  to  Colonel  Braxton,  the  captain  took  from 
his  pocket  the  four  hundred  pound  notes  and  returned  them. 

"  You  will  pardon  my  little  jest,  my  dear  colonel,"  he 
said,  "  as  I  freely  pardon  you  the  pistol  shot  which  passed, 
you  see,  close  to  my  breast,  spoiling  my  best  coat — my  best, 
parole  cPhonneur  !  It  was  only  a  little  escapade  of  fun,  an 
ebullition  of  youthful  spirits.  I  'm  getting  old  and  I  need 
amusement.  My  object  was  simply  to  further  a  small  pri 
vate  affair,  which  the  march  of  our  friends  here  upon  Wil- 
liamsburg  would  have  suited  admirably.  I  thought  I  had 
provided  for  every  thing — well !  well !  The  best  schemes 
sometimes  fail — the  most  honest  intentions  1  I  suppose  now 
the  chance  of  war  's  at  an  end — what  unhappiness  !" 

And  the  captain  sighed  in  the  midst  of  laughter. 

Even  Colonel  Braxton,  who  was  excellently  pleased  with 
the  result,  joined  in  the  laughter,  and  one  would  have 
thought  that  these  men  were  in  a  ball  room,  instead  of  on 
the  surface  of  a  volcano.* 

"  So  the  affair  is  all  over,  and  the  fight  will  not  take  place," 
said  Captain  Waters  to  Colonel  Henry,  as  he  got  into  the 
saddle. 

A  grim  smile  wreathed  the  firm  iron  lips,  and  the  man  of 
the  red  cloak  replied, 

"  Let  us  wait ;  't  is  the  momentary  ebb  of  the  wave, 
friend !" 

"  The  ebb  ?" 

"  Yes ;  the  silence  in  the  air — the  lull  before  the  storm — 
*  Historical  Illustrations,  No.  XL. 


444  HENKY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN". 

the  retrograde  movement  of  the  great  wave  of  revolution. 
"When  that  wave  rushes  forward  again,  as  it  will  before  you 
can  speak,  almost,  it  will  strike  and  overwhelm !  Then  you  '11 
see  the  last  scene  of  the  last  act  of  the  tragedy — the  tragedy 
of  '  George  III.  in  Virginia !'  Farewell !" 
And  the  trumpet  sounded  to  horse, 


CHAPTER    LXXXII. 

HOW   LINDON  -LEFT    WILLIAMSBUBG,   AND    WHOM    HE    CON 
VERSED  WITH  AT  AGINCOUKT. 

THE  prophecy  was  destined  soon  to  be  fulfilled.  Dun- 
more  vainly  thought  that  compliance  with  the  demands  of 
the  Hanoverians,  in  the  matter  of  the  powder,  would  quiet 
the  colony  and  disarm  revolution. 

Things  had  gone  too  far ;  the  times  were  ripe  now,  and 
nothing  could  divert  the  storm  about  to  burst.  The  Assem 
bly  was  summoned,  the  Governor  made  a  diplomatic  speech, 
with  Lord  North's  famous  "  olive  branch"  proposal  in  his 
hand,  but  it  was  ah1  of  no  avail. 

Virginia  was  aroused  in  its  whole  length  and  breadth,  and 
arms  were  in  every  hand,  soon,  as  we  shall  see,  to  be  used. 

Let  us  proceed,  however,  to  relate  the  events  which  befell 
the  personages  of  our  narrative,  before  we  chronicle  the 
outburst  of  the  storm.  For,  after  all,  it  is  a  family  history 
which  we  relate — the  joys  and  sorrows  of  unhistorical  pei*- 
sonages  is  our  chief  subject. 

Let  us  follow  now  the  events  which  brought  all  things  to 
an  issue  here  too ;  like  the  whole  land,  our  small  domain 
had  its  convulsion  and  its  tragedy,  and  this  we  shall  now 
proceed  to  relate. 

About  three  weeks  after  the  scene  which  we  have  just 
witnessed  at  Doncastle's  Ordinary,  Lindon  one  morning 
presented  himself  before  Lord  Dunmore,  and  requested 
leave  of  absence  for  a  fortnight. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  445 

This  leave  was  graciously  accorded  by  his  lordship,  who 
thought  he  would  have  at  present  no  use  for  his  mercena 
ries;  and  on  the  same  afternoon,  Lindon  mounted  his  horse, 
and  crossing  the  James  at  Burwell's  ferry,  set  forward  in  a 
south-westerly  direction  over  the  main  road  of  Isle  of  Wight 
county. 

Busy  with  the  events  befalling  our  chief  characters,  we 
have  not  been  able  to  expend,  upon  this  gentleman  and  his 
affairs,  that  attention,  which,  in  view  of  their  connection 
with  our  history,  they  demand  at  our  hands. 

Lindon  had,  time  after  tune,  renewed  his  addresses  to 
Bonnybel,  and  repulse  seemed  only  to  arouse  still  more 
deeply  the  profound  passion  of  his  nature.  Driven  back 
upon  every  occasion — rejected  time  after  time,  and  always 
with  increased  coldness  and  decision  by  the  girl — he  had 
come  at  last  to  regard  it  as  a  single  combat  between  them 
for  the  victory,  and  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  he  registered 
a  silent  oath  that  he  would  conquer  the  girl's  resolution  or 
die  in  the  attempt.  There  was  still  another  reason  in  ad 
dition,  which  impelled  him  to  persevere. 

The  large  property  which  he  inherited  from  his  father, 
had,  by  successive  mortgages,  been  almost  wholly  alien 
ated  ;  and  such  had  been  the  success  of  the  owner,  that  his 
affairs  were  now  hopelessly  embarrassed.  To  preserve  his 
station,  and  not  be  turned  as  a  beggar  on  the  world,  it  was 
necessary  that  he  should  look  around  him  speedily  for  some 
means  of  fortifying  his  position  ;  and  this  he  found  in  a 
marriage  with  Bonnybel.  Were  he  to  secure  the  hand  of 
that  young  lady,  the  wealth  and  influence  of  Colonel  Vane 
would  be  at  his  command  ;  and  he  could  easily  induce  his 
creditors  to  delay  the  threatened  sale  of  all  his  property. 
They  had  already  forced  him  to  sell  nearly  every  servant 
which  he  possessed ;  and  he  was  scarcely  left  now  with  a 
handful.  A  union  with  Bonnybel  was  thus  equally  desira 
ble  in  a  business  point  of  view ;  and  with  passion  and 
cupidity  working  together,  the  whole  energies  of  this  man's 
nature  were  put  forth  to  attain  his  object. 


446  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

Let  us  follow  him,  and  see  whither  he  goes. 

About  sunset,  Lindon  reached  his  house  of  "  Agincourt," 
which  was  a  fine  old  mansion,  erected  upon  a  lofty  hill ;  and 
as  he  rode  up,  the  dying  sunset  gilded  the  roofs  and  the 
many  out-houses  attached  to  the  homestead. 

With  an  air  of  fiery  impatience  which  had  become  ha 
bitual  with  him  of  late,  he  threw  the  bridle  of  his  horse  to 
a  rough-looking  man,  and  said  briefly : 

"  You  have  watched  carefully,  as  I  ordered  you  ?" 

"  Yes  sir,"  replied  the  man,  doffing  his  cap ;  "  she  has 
been  rather  more  restive  to-day,  and  I  had  some  trouble,  as 
usual ;  but  I  think  she  sees  there 's  no  hope." 

"  That 's  well,"  said  Lindon ;  "  now  order  some  dinner 
for  me,  I  'm  nearly  broken  down.  Go  !" 

The  man  touched  his  forehead,  and  Lindon  entered  the 
house. 

It  was  elegantly  arranged,  and  the  furniture  of  the  great 
apartment  which  he  entered,  though  rather  too  gaudy  for 
good  taste,  displayed  every  mark  of  wealth. 

Lindon  threw  himself  upon  a  velvet  sofa,  and  ringing  for 
wine,  which  a  servant  brought  him  upon  a  silver  waiter, 
took  great  gulps  of  the  liquid,  and  then  seemed  to  re 
flect. 

"  Things  are  coming  to  a  crisis,"  he  muttered  at  length ; 
"  and  if  I  act  at  ah1,  I  must  act  quickly.  Those  scoundrels 
will  sell  me  out,  if  I  do  not  prevent  them  ;  and  there 's  but 
one  way  now — this  marriage !  How  can  I  achieve  it  ? 
How  conquer  that  diabolical  resolution  of  a  mere  love-sick 
girl,  dreaming,  I  have  no  doubt,  of  that  pale-faced  hero,  for 
sooth  !  She  loves  him,  and  she  scorns  me !  Curse  him ! 
he 's  the  stumbling-block  in  all  my  schemes,  and  eternally 
opposes  and  conquers  me !  Why  did  n't  I  run  him  through 
the  heart  yonder,  and  so  end  him  ?  Shall  I  now  ?  He  is 
still  weak  from  his  sickness,  and  I  could  do  it !  I'll  think 
about  it !" 

And  with  a  heavy  frown  upon  his  brow,  Lindon  was 
silent  for  some  moments,  reflecting. 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  447 

"  No  !"  he  growled,  at  length,  with  an  oath  ;  "  no  !  curse 
him  !  I  'd  like  to  put  an  end  to  his  scheming ;  but  what 
'  good  would  that  do-?  It  would  only  make  the  marriage 
more  difficult,  and  I  've  no  time  to  attend  to  such  things. 
In  a  fortnight,  perhaps,  Dunmore  will  be  driven  from  Vir 
ginia,  and  I  was  a  fool  to  attach  myself  to  such  a  coward  as 
he  is !  I  thought  he  would  bolster  me  up,  but  he  can't 
protect  himself  from  these  canaille !  This  fine  hero,  St. 
John,  this  Lord  Bolingbroke  !  well,  he  shall  escape  me  for 
the  present,  though  I  shall  not  forget  him.  I  must  think  of 
something  more  important." 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  summons  to  the  table,  whither 
he  proceeded  and  rapidly  devoured  his  meal,  washing  it 
down  with  large  draughts  of  wine.  He  then  returned  to 
the  sofa,  and,  with  knit  brows,  again  reflected  : 

"  Well,  I  'm  determined,  at  last !"  he  said,  with  a  face 
flushed  by  the  thought  in  his  mind  more  than  by  the  wine 
which  he  had  drunk  ;  "  it  is  the  only  way  that 's  left  to  me, 
and  I  '11  do  it  and  take  the  consequences !  Now  I  '11  go  and 
see  madame,"  with  which  words  he  rose,  with  a  sinister 
smile,  from  the  sofa,  and  left  the  room. 

He  ascended  the  great  stair-case,  and,  taking  a  key  from 
his  pocket,  opened  a  room  directly  over  the  one  he  had 
just  left. 

It  was  a  chamber  elegantly  furnished,  and,  in  a  corner, 
sat — Miss  Carne,  the  Vanely  seamstress. 

.The  woman  sat  crouched  down  and  leaned  her  elbows  on 
her  knees.  Her  hair,  falling  in  disordered  masses  on  her 
bosom,  completely  concealed  her  countenance — the  brows 
resting  upon  her  white  and  nervous  hands. 

As  Lindon  entered  she  half  raised  her  head,  and,  when 
she  saw  who  her  visitor  was,  raised  it  entirely  erect. 

The  face  thus  revealed  was  scarcely  recognizable.  For 
merly,  this  woman  had  been  almost  beautiful,  and  an  ex 
pression  of  tranquillity  and  content  characterized  her  entire 
appearance.  Now,  however,  all  this  had  disappeared.  Her 
'  face  was  haggard  and  furrowed  by  passion,  and  her  dark 


448  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

eyes  burned  with  a  sullen  and  lurid  flame  which  seemed  to 
flash  up  and  glitter  as  she  looked  upon  Lindon. 

He  entered  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  and,  approaching  the 
woman,  said,  satirically, 

"  How  is  my  pretty  bird  to-day — how  is  madame  the  vul 
ture  ?  Have  my  people  supplied  all  her  wants  and  com 
plied  with  her  wishes  ?" 

A  lurid  flash,  brighter  than  the  former,  darted  from  the 
eyes  of  Miss  Carne. 

"  Madame  seems  silent,"  said  Lindon  in  the  same  tone  of 
sarcasm. 

There  was  no  reply. 

With  cheeks  flushed  with  wine,  and  a  gait  unsteady  from 
the  same  cause,  Lindon  drew  nearer  to  the  woman,  and,  at 
last,  placed  one  hand  carelessly  on  her  head. 

Before  he  could  complete  the  caress  which  he  attempted, 
the  woman  rose  to  her  feet,  with  a  spring  like  a  wild  cat, 
and  uttered  a  hoarse  cry  which  was  scarcely  human. 

"  Do  n't  touch  me  !"  she  said.  "  Touch  me  at  you  peril !" 
and,  with  bloodshot  eyes,  hair  hanging  in  disorder,  aud 
lips  writhing  with  convulsive  passion,  she  seemed  ready  to 
spring  upon  Lindon  and  throttle  him. 

"  Ah  !  our  pretty  hawk  is  angry,"  he  said,  with  a  sarcastic 
grin  ;  "  our  lady  bird  intends  to  show  her  claws.  Come  to 
its  deary — deary  won't  let  anybody  hurt  his  turtle-dove," 
and  again  he  attempted  to  touch  her  hair. 

With  one  bound  the  woman  sprang  to  a  table  upon 
which  a  knife  had  been  left,  and,  clutching  it,  confronted 
her  persecutor. 

Lindon  regarded  her,  for  a  moment,  with  drunken  grav 
ity,  and  then  said,  soothingly, 

"  Come,  do  n't  let  us  have  any  scenes." 

"  I  wish  to  have  none !"  said  the  woman,  hoarsely,  "  but 
before  you  shall  touch  me  I  will  plunge  this  knife  into  your 
heart.  I  hate  you !  I  detest  you !  The  very  sight  of  you 
makes  me  sick !" 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  449 

"  Ah !  does  it  ?"  said  Lindon,  approaching  her  cautiously 
but  with  apparent  carelessness. 

"  Yes !  you  tempted  me  to  crime !  you  took  advantage 
of  my  treacherous  nature  !  you  made  me  the  tool  of  your 
villainy  by  appealing  to  my  avarice,  and  now — " 

"  You  've  not  even  the  consolation  of  the  reward,  eh  ?" 
said  Lindon,  satirically;  "is  that  your  meaning?"  and, 
with  the  same  air  of  carelessness,  he  approached  nearer 
still. 

"  Yes !"  said  the  woman,  hoarsely ;  "  you  made  a  devil 
of  me,  and  now  you  turn  me  loose  without  the  money  for 
which  I  sold  myself!" 

"  Turned  you  loose,  my  pretty  bud  ?  Is  n't  that  a  slight 
mistake  ?" 

And  he  drew  nearer  still. 

"  Yes !"  said  the  woman,  with  suUen  passion,  "  you  are 
right !  I  am  not  free ;  I  am  a  prisoner  here  under  a  brutal 
jailor." 

"  And  can't  go  and  tell  the  world  of  my  depravity,  eh  ?" 

"It  shall  know  all  yet,  and  you  will  be  punished  !  If  the 
world  does  not  do  it  I  will !" 

And  an  angry  clutch  of  the  knife  showed  the  meaning  of 
the  speaker. 

"Ah?    You  will?" 

"  Yes !" 

"  You  will  punish  me  ?" 

"  Yes !" 

"  Perhaps  stab  me  ?" 

"  If  you  tempt  me !" 

"  Well,  I  will !» 

And  Lindon,  who  had  approached  nearer  and  nearer  as 
he  uttered  these  words,  suddenly,  sprang  upon  the  woman, 
and  wrenching  the  knife  from  her  grasp,  broke  the  blade  by 
striking  it  on  the  table. 

He  then  confined  the  wrists  of  the  furious  woman  in  his 
own,  and  forcing  her  writhing  form  violently  into  a  chair, 
said, 


450  HENRY    ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

"  Now,  my  pretty  lady-bird,  I  've  blunted  your  claws !  In 
future  you  had  better  watch  better !" 

He  continued  to  hold  her  thus  until  she  ceased  strug 
gling,  and  then  finding  her  apparently  subdued,  released 
his  hold. 

"My  dear  Madame  Carne,  or  Madame  In-What-Ever- 
Other-Name-Thou-Rejoicest,"  he  said,  "  you  perceive  that 
after  all  I  am  more  than  a  match  for  you  in  deviltry.  It  is 
true  I  never  could  have  accomplished  what  you  did,  and  there 
I  accord  you  every  praise.  Your  boldness  and  treachery  and 
cunning  were  admirable,  and  extort  my  highest  admiration. 
You  effected  your  object,  and  I  confess  that  the  thousand 
pound  note  which  I  promised  you  ought  to  have  been  forth 
coming.  You  know  it  became  absolutely  necessary  to  con 
fine  you  here  afterwards,  and  here  you  will  still  remain  un 
til  I  've  finished  a  little  affair  which  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
of  as  a  friend.  You  can  not  report  it,  fortunately,  and  I  'm 
ennuye  this  evening.  Come,  I  '11  sit  here  and  tell  you  all 
about  it !'» 

With  these  words  Lindon  coolly  sat  down  opposite  to 
Miss  Carne,  upon  whose  countenance  the  sullen  and  lurid 
look  had  taken  the  place  of  the  fiery  passion,  and  thus,  re 
posing  gracefully,  her  persecutor  spoke  at  length  upon  the 
"  little  affair." 

At  ten  o'clock  he  rose,  and  said, 

"  I  think  the  thing  looks  promising ;  do  n't  you  ?  You 
know  the  old  adage,  '  faint  heart  never  won  a  fair  lady  yet,' 
and  I  need  not  tell  so  intimate  a  friend  as  yourself — one  so 
well  acquainted  with  my  private  affairs — that 't  is  absolutely 
necessary  for  me  to  take  some  acred  young  lady  to  wife.  I 
am  determined  to  have  this  one,  and  I  've  told  you  the  means 
I  shall  employ.  Of  course  your  thousand  pounds  will  be 
punctually  paid,  and  I  shall  escort  you  gallantly  to  the  sea 
board,  and  see  you  depart.  I  trust 't  will  so  end ;  but  per 
haps  you  will  not  permit  it.  I  see  a  gleam  in  your  fair  eyes 
which  may  make  it  necessary  to  suppress  you.  Do  you 
know  the  meaning  of  that  word  ?  I  've  a  fellow  here  who 


HESTBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  451 

has  an  original  genius  for  murder;  of  course,  however,  I" 
shall  not?  employ  him.     You  won't  be  revengeful,  dear  lady 
bird,  but  profit  by  the  thing  and  go  away." 

Having  thus  spoken  in  the  same  tone  of  mocking  sarcasm, 
Lindon  yawned  and  declared  his  intention  to  retire. 

The  woman  did  not  reply.  Still  crouching  in  her  seat, 
and  looking  at  him  fixedly  with  her  bloodshot  eyes,  she  re 
sembled  a  panther  about  to  spring.- 

Lindon  rose  and  made  her  a  low,  mock,  ceremonious 
bow. 

"  I  trust  your  ladyship  will  have  pleasant  dreams,"  he 
said,  "and  I  now  have  the  honor  of  respectfully  bidding 
you  adieu." 

As  he  closed  the  door  and  disappeared,  the  woman  rose 
to  her  feet,  and  with  an  indescribable  expression  of  hatred, 
looked  at  the  spot  where  he  had  passed  from  her  sight. 

At  the  same  moment  the  key  turned,  the  heavy  bolt  was 
shot  into  its  place,  and  Lindon  reti*eated,  singing  in  a  harsh 
and  drunken  voice,  a  bacchanalian  song. 

The  woman  shook  her  clenched  fist  at  the  door,  and  with 
lips  convulsed  by  passion,  muttered  hoarsely, 

"  You  said  I  was  cunning — wait  and  see  !" 

And  her  sinister  eyes  betrayed  the  fixed  resolution  which 
she  had  made. 


CHAPTER   LXXXIII. 

A     GLANCE     AT     V  A  N"  E  L  T  . 

AT  Yanely,  as  of  old,  sleeps  the  beautiful  sunshine  of  the 
tender  May,  and  the  flowers  bloom  as  they  did  on  that 
morning  of '74  when  we  opened  the  pages  of  our  chronicle. 

Again,  as  on  that  morn  when  Tom  Alston  and  his  friend 
rode  gayly  up  the  hill,  the  leaves  bourgeon  and  bloom — the 
winds  laugh  and  dance  onward  as  though  singing,  while  the 
great  oaks  rustle,  the  clouds  float  like  white  strips  on  an 


452  HENRY   ST.    JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

ocean  of  azure,  and  the  grass  on  the  lawn  is  sprinkled  with 
forget-me-nots,  those  stars  of  the  earth  in  the  spring. 

That  spring,  as  in  old  years,  has  come  in  rejoicing,  and 
the  domain  of  Vanely  wakes  up  and  smiles,  and  puts  on  the 
gala  costume  of  the  fine  season. 

Let  us  enter,  for  a  moment,  as  we  pass  onward,  and  look 
around  us. 

In  his  old  chair,  in  the  library  with  its  oaken  book  cases 
and  table  covered  with  volumes,  sits  our  friend  the  good 
colonel,  with  his  gouty  foot  raised  upon  a  cricket.  He  reads, 
stopping  at  times  to  polish  bis  spectacles,  for  the  old  gen 
tleman  finds  age  creeping  on  him. 

By  his  side  sits  Bonnybel,  engaged  at  some  work,  with  a 
sad  smile  on  her  fair  face,  which  is  still  paler  than  before. 
But  this  paleness  even  adds  to  her  beauty.  She  looks  more 
like  a  sweet  phantom  than  a  woman  of  flesh  and  blood,  and, 
when  she  raises  her  large  violet  eyes  and  smiles,  her  whole 
countenance  is  so  spiritual  that  an  old  painter  might  have 
taken  it  for  a  type  of  Madonna. 

Long  hours  pass  thus,  and  then  Mrs.  Vane,  Miss  Seraphi- 
na  and  Helen  come  in,  and  the  family  converse  and  try  to 
cheer  the  girl.  They  evidently  affect  the  merriment  of 
spirit  which  they  display,  and  it  is  meant  to  enliven  her. 

The  father  and  daughter  sit  thus  in  the  cheerful  room 
every  morning,  and  here  Bonnybel  receives  her  visitors. 
These  visitors  are  Barry  Hunter,  Mr.  Page,  Mr.  Ranton 
and  others,  and  often  Tom  Alston  and  Jack  Hamilton  come 
to  Yanely,  though  the  former  has,  for  some  time  now,  been 
sick. 

Miss  Seraphina  rather  likes  to  be  teased  about  Mr.  Ham 
ilton,  and  the  color  in  Helen's  cheek,  when  Mr.  Alston  is 
mentioned,  seems  to  indicate  that  the  fruit  has  nearly  fallen 
by  the  "  shaking." 

At  times,  Bonnybel  goes  to  the  harpsichord  and  sings, 
and  her  voice  has  the  old  tenderness  and  sweetness,  but  not 
the  joy.  That  contagious  freshness  and  merriment  which 
once  characterized  it  is  gone,  and  it  has  a  sad  music  in  its 


HENKY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  453 

faint  carol.  It  is  "  Katherine  Ogie"  which  she  sings  most 
frequently,  and  the  ditty  is  so  inexpressibly  sad  and  touch 
ing  as  she  sings  it,  that  tears  more  than  once  come  to  the 
eyes  of  the  auditors. 

Thus  the  days  pass  on,  and  the  current  flows  tranquilly 
in  the  good  old  mansion  from  which  we  have  been  absent  so 
long.  Political  events  make  small  stir  there,  though  they 
are  spoken  of  frequently,  and  often  the  old  colonel  sup 
presses  an  outbreak.  He  does  not  yield  now  to  these  pas 
sionate  impulses.  He  grows  old. 

One  subject  alone  is  never  mentioned — one  name  is  never 
uttered.  But  she  thinks  of  him  always. 

What  befell  that  personage,  and,  especiaUy,  what  hap 
pened  to  the  girl,  the  two  letters,  which  we  now  lay  before 
the  reader,  and  the  events  which  followed,  will  abundantly 
show. 

The  crisis  of  the  family  history  and  the  political  storm 
ripened  and  rushed  into  action  nearly  at  the  same  moment. 


CHAPTER    LXXXIY. 

BONNYBEL   VANE    TO    HEB   FBIEND   KATE   EFFINGHAM. 

I. 

"  VANELT,  the  20ft  May,  "75. 

"  How  long  it  seems  now  since  I  've  written  to  my  own 
dear  Kate  !  I  received,  more  than  three  weeks  since,  your 
kind,  sweet  letter,  and  only  my  unhappiness  has  prevented 
me  from  replying.  You  may  not  consider  this  a  good  rea 
son,  but  it  is  true.  When  we  suffer  little  sorrows,  and  are 
sad  only,  then  we  fly  to  our  friends  and  unbosom  ourselves, 
and  the  act  brings  us  consolation.  This  is  not  the  case,  I 
think,  when  we  are  deeply  wounded,  as  I  am.  I  ask  only 
silence  and  quiet,  for  nothing  relieves  me,  not  even  writing 
to  my  Kate ! 


454  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

"  But  I'll  not  write  so  sadly.  I  will  try  and  relate  cheer 
fully  what  has  happened  to  us  all.  It  is  nothing,  scarcely. 
There  is  little  that 's  new.  Papa  continues  to  have  gout, 
but  his  health,  I  think,  improves  with  the  spring  ;  mamma, 
too,  seems  stronger  since  the  advent  of  May,  and  Helen  and 
Aunt  Seraphina  are  as  blooming  as  roses.  My  cheeks  have 
not  reddened  yet,  as  they  will  soon,  I  trust.  The  spring 
will,  doubtless,  restore  my  strength  and  spirits,  which,  you 
know,  dearest,  have  not  been  good  since — well,  let  me  not 
speak  of  that  sad  subject  again.  Papa  is  going  to  send  me, 
in  a  day  or  two,  to  Mr.  BurweU's.  He  thinks  the  fresh  sea 
breeze  will  quite  cure  me. 

"I  thought  I  would  not  write  upon  sad  subjects,  but  I 
can  think  of  little  besides  that  which  my  Kate  knows  about. 
It  continues  to  depress  me  very  much,  and  I  will  tell  you 
how  it  has  been  again  brought  up  to  me.  Since  the  meet 
ing  at  Mammy  Liza's,  of  which  I  told  you,  I  have  seen  him 
twice,  but  we  have  never  spoken. 

"The  first  time  was  at  Moorefield,  Mr.  Alston's,  you 
know,  whither  we  went  in  the  chariot  to  see  Mrs.  Alston, 
Mr.  Thomas'  aunt.  Our  staying  away  was  becoming  abso 
lutely  marked,  and  so  we  went.  As  the  chariot  drove  up  to 
the  door,  he  had  just  mounted  his  horse  to  ride  away.  As 
I  afterwards  discovered,  he  had  been  staying  some  days 
with  Mr.  Alston,  who  is  sick,  and  now  returned  to  Williams- 
burg.  He  passed  within  a  few  feet  of  the  carriage,  and  made 
us  a  low  and  ceremonious  salute.  I  saw  him  distinctly,  and 
though  still  very  pale,  he  looked  stronger  and  more  cheer 
ful.  His  arm  was  no  longer  supported  by  the  scarf,  and 
seemed  to  have  quite  healed. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you,  dear,  how  much  I  was  rejoiced  to 
see  him  thus  well  again,  and  his  sickness  seemed  even  to 
have  added  to  that  singular  grace  which,  you  know,  has 
ever  characterized  him.  His  air  had  lost  none  of  its  dignity, 
and  I  observed  that  extraordinary  smile  as  he  passed — a 
smile  which  seemed  now  both  happy  and  sad.  All  this  I 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  455 

descried  as  he  passed  quickly ;  in  a  moment  he  was  gone. 
That  is  the  first  meeting. 

"  The  second  was  the  other  evening,  and  at  the  old  grave 
yard,  where  his  mother  and  father  are  buried,  you  know. 
When  you  were  last  here,  we  visited  it  one  afternoon,  and, 
you  know,  it  lies  down  the  vale,  within  sight  of  the  upper 
window  of  my  chamber.  I  can  see  the  distant  oaks  as  I 
write.  Helen  and  myself  had  gone  out  to  take  a  walk  about 
twilight,  and  we  extended  it  so  far  that  the  night  caught  us, 
as  we  passed  the  old  graveyard  on  our  return.  The  moon 
was  shining,  however,  and  we  were  not  afraid,  as  we  heard 
the  voice  of  Uncle  Robin,  on  the  hill  near  by,  driving  home 
the  cattle  and  singing  one  of  his  rude  songs.  The  moon 
light  was  nearly  as  bright  as  day  as  we  came  near  the  grave 
yard,  and  Helen  went  to  the  gate  and  looked  in.  You 
know  it  is  surrounded  by  an  old  brick  wall,  which  is  begin 
ning  to  crumble,  some  of  the  bricks  having  been  knocked 
off  by  mischievous  boys,  and  the  enclosure,  in  other  places, 
cracked  by  the  roots  of  the  trees  forcing  up. 

"  Helen  went  to  the  old  wooden  gate,  which  was  closed 
with  a  log  laid  against  it,  and  peered  through  the  bars.  I 
followed  her,  and  for  a  moment  we  stood  thus  silently  gaz 
ing  at  the  tombstones.  "We  were  about  to  return  when  sud 
denly  we  heard  a  low  sigh,  and  a  figure,  which  had  been 
kneeling  in  the  shadow  upon  the  grave  of  Aunt  St.  John, 
rose  erect  in  the  moonlight.  We  drew  back  quickly  into  the 
shadow  of  the  great  oak,  for  we  were  somewhat  frightened, 
as  you  may  imagine.  In  an  instant,  however,  I  recognized 
him,  and  my  terror  yielded  to  sorrow.  He  leaned  upon  the 
tall  tombstone  in  the  moonlight,  and  rested  his  forehead  on 
the  cold  marble.  I  shall  never  forget  his  figure  as  he  stood 
thus.  His  right  arm  encircled  the  weeping  willow  cut  on 
the  top  of  the  stone,  his  long  dark  hair  fell  upon  the  white 
surface,  and  only  the  movement  of  his  breast  proved  that 
he  himself  was  not  a  form  of  marble.  He  remained  thus  for 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  then,  raising  his  head,  looked 
in  succession  at  eveiy  object  in  the  graveyard,  apparently 


456  HENBY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

bidding  them  farewell,  one  after  another.  He  then  stooped 
and  plucked  a  wild  rose  from  the  turf  on  his  mother's  grave, 
stood  looking  at  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  slowly  passed 
through  a  cleft  in  the  wall  and  disappeared.  We  heard  his 
horse  neigh  from  a  copse  near  by,  and  then  the  sound  of 
hoof-strokes  dying  gradually  into  silence.  He  was  gone, 
and  we  came  home  without  a  word — I  think  Helen  was 
crying  too. 

"  I  thought  I  would  write  of  these  two  meetings,  my  own 
Kate,  because  it  affords  me  a  painful  consolation  to  speak  of 
him.  O,  why  will  he  leave  us  ?  for  he  came  to  bid  farewell 
thus  to  his  mother,  I  know,  before  going  to  foreign  lands, 
whither,  I  'm  told,  he  would  long  since  have  gone  but  for 
the  late  troubles  and  the  sickness  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Alston. 
He  leaves  many  who  love  him,  and  ask  only  that  he  will 
come  back  again.  My  wounded  pride  is  no  longer  mistress 
of  me,  and  though  he  can  never  be  the  same  to  me,  I  should 
love  and  cherish  him  still — though  I  never  could  be  his 
wife. 

"  I  am  not  happy.  Please  write  and  give  me  some  com 
fort,  if  you  can.  I  must  end  my  sad  letter  now,  dearest.  I 
will  write  you  again  from  Mr.  Burwell's,  whither  I  go,  as  I 
said,  in  a  day  or  two. 

"  Much  love  to  Willie,  and  farewell,  dear. 

"  Your  devoted 

"  BONNYBEL." 

II. 

FBOM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME. 

"MB.  BUBWELL'S,  Isk  of  Wight,  the  ZdJune,  "75. 

"  IN  my  last  letter,  dear  Kate,  I  told  you  I  was  coming 
hither  in  search  of  some  color  for  my  cheeks.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  I  've  not  found  it.  I  think  the  air 's  not  as  whole 
some  to  me  as  that  of  Prince  George,  and  in  a  day  or  two  I 
shall  set  out  on  my  return  to  Vanely. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  have  received  every  kindness 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  457 

and  goodness  from  the  family.  The  Burwells  are  admirably 
cheerful,  and  kindly,  and  I  think  '  Belle-bouche,'  as  they  still 
call  her,  from  some  old  jest,  is  a  beauty,  and  as  tender  as 
she  's  lovely.  She  delights  us  as  usual — for  Bel  Tracy  is 
here — with  stories  about  her  '  youth,'  as  she  calls  it  with  a 
laugh,  and  certainly,  from  her  own  relation,  Monsieur  Belle- 
bouche,  if  the  name  is  proper,  had  a  very  difficult  time  in 
his  courtship.  They  began  talking  about  these  old  scenes 
one  evening  on  the  portico,  when  Mr.  Mowbray  and  that 
dazzling  lady,  his  wife,  Mistress  Philippa,  had  ridden  over 
from  their  house,  not  far  off,  and  I  think  the  stories  which 
they  repeated  would  make  a  lively  comedy.  There  seemed 
to  be  even  more  than  Belle-bouche  told,  for  she  was  going 
on,  laughing,  when  Mistress  Philippa  stopped  her,  and  blush 
ing  deeply,  prayed  her  to  refrain.  Mr.  Mowbray  turned  his 
fine  head  with  a  smile,  and  said,  '  Silence  was  better,'  after 
which  he  went  on  talking  with  Mr.  Nelson,  from  Little  York. 
How  merry  and  happy  all  are,  except  myself!  But  that 's 
envious,  and  I  will  not  complain. 

"  This  is  all  that  I  think  of  to  tell  you,  dear,  but  I  've  for 
gotten  the  chief  incident  of  all !  Mr.  Lindon  and  myself 
had  a  violent  scene  yesterday  morning,  and  we  have  parted 
for  the  last  time,  I  trust.  He  renewed  his  addresses,  which, 
you  know,  I  have  repeatedly  rejected,  and  had  the  discour 
tesy,  when  I  simply  said  I  could  not  accept  his  attentions 
any  further,  to  reply,  that  he  would  yet  find  the  means  to 
make  me  change  my  resolution !  Can  you  imagine  such 
rudeness  ?  It  aroused  all  my  pride,  and  I  told  him,  with  a 
look  as  freezing  as  ice,  that  I  despised  his  threat,  and  cared 
nothing  for  him.  I  regretted  it  afterwards  and  do  now — I 
mean  my  passion,  but  his  tone  was  insufferable.  The  scene 
made  me  sick  all  day,  but  I  believe  I  have  now  quite  recov 
ered  from  it.  I  left  Mr.  Lindon  in  the  parlor,  and  came  up 
stairs,  and  he  soon  went  away.  His  abuse  of  him  has  for 
ever  ruined  him  in  my  estimation. 

"  I  must  close,  as  the  mail  passes  very  soon,  dear.  Please 
write  to  me  a  good  long  letter,  such  as  my  Kate  knows  how 

20 


458  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

to  write.    Direct  to  Vanely,  where  I  shall  "be  before  your 
letter  can  arrive. 

"  Do  not  let  my  sadness  grieve  you,  and  we  should  trust 
in  our  dear  heavenly  Father,  who  sends  the  clouds  and  the 
sunshine  in  mercy.  In  him  I  put  my  trust. 

"  Much  love  to  Willie — I  hope  you  enjoyed  your  visit  to 
the  Hall,  where  Mr.  Hamilton  says  he  saw  you. 

"  Good  bye  now,  dear  —  pray  for  me,  as  I  do  for  you 
night  and  morning. 

"  Your  own 

"  BONNYBEL." 


CHAPTER  LXXXV. 

LINDOK     SMILES. 

AT  the  moment  when  Bonnybel  folded  and  sealed  the 
letter  last  laid  before  the  reader,  Lin  don  entered  Williams- 
burg  from  the  south,  riding  at  full  speed,  and  casting  a 
glance  toward  the  palace  as  he  passed,  halted  in  front  of 
the  Raleigh  tavern. 

He  threw  his  bridle  to  a  servant,  and  ordering  him  to 
hold  his  horse,  and  not  take  him  to  the  stable,  entered  the 
tavern. 

To  his  demand,  whether  any  one  had  asked  for  him,  the 
landlord  respectfully  replied  that  a  gentleman  giving  his 
name  as  Tag,  had  done  so. 

Where  was  he  ? 

In  the  room  which  his  honor  had  directed  him  to  be 
shown  to — No.  6,  second  floor. 

And  preceded  by  a  servant,  Lindon  quickly  ascended. 

He  was  met  upon  the  threshold  of  the  room  by  no  less  a 
personage  than  Mr.  Tag,  unsuccessful  candidate  for  the 
commissariat. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  459 

The  door  closed  behind  them,  and  remained  closed  for  an 
hour. 

Then  it  opened,  and  Lindon  gave  orders  to  have  dinner 
served  to  him  and  his  companion,  cautioning  the  servant  to 
have  "  plenty  of  Vine." 

The  servant  bowed  respectfully,  and  hastened  to  obey, 
bringing,  when  he  came  again,  half  a  dozen  bottles  of  mine 
host's  best  Rhenish. 

The  dinner  went  in  and  came  out ;  and  still  the  two  men 
remained  shut  up  together. 

They  remained  thus  until  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
when  they  issued  forth  and  descended. 

A  second  horse  came  to  the  "door  in  accordance  with 
Linden's  orders,  and  he  and  Mr.  Tag  got  into  the  saddle, 
setting  forward  immediately  toward  Burwell's  ferry  on  the 
James. 

As  they  proceeded  through  the  streets  of  the  town,  they 
perceived  that  the  whole  place  was  in  commotion. 

Groups  of  men  assembled  at  the  corners,  were  discussing 
with  excited  voices  and  gestures,  something  which  seemed 
to  have  profoundly  aroused  the  popular  mind. 

As  the  two  men  pushed  onward,  and  approached  the  em 
bouchure  of  Palace  street,  this  agitation  grew  greater  and 
greater — the  crowds  still  more  numerous — and  the  groups 
were  gathered  more  closely  around  those  stump-speakers, 
who  give  utterance  at  all  times  to  the  general  sentiment, 
rising  like  bubbles  on  the  waves  of  commotion. 

From  the  groups  thus  gathered  around  the  excited  speak 
ers,  hoarse  mui'murs  rose  from  time  to  time,  and  even 
shouts  were  heard  when  some  sentiment  peculiarly  accepta 
ble  was  uttered,  or  some  lengthened  or  fiery  period  brought 
to  a  defiant  close. 

"  What  the  devil  are  these  canaille  talking  about  ?"  said 
Lindon  disdainfully  to  his  companion  ;  "let  us  listen." 

"  Let  us  listen,  sir." 

They  soon  discovered.  From  his  lofty  position  in  the 
saddle,  Lindon  looked  down  upon  the  excited  figures  of  the 


460  HENBY   ST.   JOH2f,    GENTLEHAN. 

speakers,  swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  gusts  of  oratory  ;  and 
distinctly  heard  the  words  which  they  uttered. 

The  popular  commotion  was  excited  by  a  report  just 
disseminated,  that  Captain  Collins,  by  the  orders  of  his 
Excellency,  Lord  Dunmore,  was  marching»at  the  head  of  a 
company  of  his  marines,  to  take  vengeance  on  the  city  of 
Williamsburg  for  the  late  outrages;  intending  to  reduce 
that  city  to  ashes. 

This  was  the  sudden  rumor  which  had  drawn  the  popu 
lation  from  their  houses  into  the  streets ;  and  the  sudden 
nature  of  this  sally,  at  a  moment's  notice,  sufficiently  proved 
that  the  general  feeling  was  as  fiery  as  ever,  and  that  every 
one  looked  forward  to  critical  events,  and  was  prepared  for 
the  issue.  The  specious  words  of  his  Excellency  had  not 
deceived  a  single  individual ;  and  Williamsburg  had  never 
been  so  thoroughly  on  its  guard,  as  it  was  when  the  pow 
der  affair  was  arranged. 

It  now  rose  en  masse,  as  we  have  seen,  at  a  word,  and  all 
classes — from  the  members  of  the  House  of  Burgesses, 
which  assembled  on  the  day  before,  to  the  humblest  citizen 
of  the  town — all  was  violent  commotion  and  expectation. 

More  than  one  sinister  glance  was  directed  toward  Lin- 
don  as  he  proceeded,  for  he  was  recognized  as  lieutenant  of 
the  Governor's  guard.  But  no  violence  was  offered  him, 
and  he  was  allowed  to  proceed  quietly. 

"  Fools  !"  he  muttered  ;  "  you  are  as  fearful  as  children  ! 
You  make  bugbears  and  tremble  at  them !  With  a  single 
company  I  'd  crush  out  your  sedition,  and  teach  you  your 
duty  to  the  government !" 

In  spite,  however,  of  this  lofty  tone,  Lindon  hastened  the 
speed  of  his  horse,  and  arriving  thus,  followed  by  Tag,  at 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  betrayed  visible  satisfaction  at  the 
event. 

He  looked  back  at  the  crowd  which  seemed  gradually 
diminishing,  and  then  turning  his  head  in  front  again,  en 
countered  the  gaze  of  a  horseman  coming  into,  as  he  was 
leaving,  Williamsburg. 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  461 

As  he  and  the  horseman  exchanged  low  and  ceremonious 
salutes,  a  cold  and  sinister  smile  for  a  moment  illuminated 
London's  countenance ;  and  this  smile  became  one  of  tri 
umph  as  the  horseman  passed  on  and  disappeared. 

That  horseman  was  Mr.  St.  John,  who,  having  bid  adieu 
to  his  friend,  Tom  Alston,  now  came  to  make  his  prepa 
rations  to  leave  Virginia,  as  he  had  said,  "  never  to  return." 


CHAPTER   LXXXVI. 

THE      TWO      LETTERS. 

BONNYBEL  had  rightly  supposed  that  nothing  but  the 
sickness  of  Mr.  Alston  had  detained  Mr.  St.  John  in  Vir 
ginia.  That  sickness  having  now  yielded,  he  rapidly  made 
every  preparation,  and  paid  his  adieus  to  the  places,  the 
things,  the  personages  of  his  youth. 

She  had  chanced  to  meet  him  as  he  bade  farewell  to  the 
tombs  of  his  mother  and  his  father — that  was  the  last  and 
saddest  of  all.  From  that  moment  his  heart  was  dissevered 
from  the  soil,  and  he  no  longer  thought  of  any  thing  but 
another  land  where  he  might  forget  his  sufferings  and  his 
misfortunes. 

It  was  on  Friday,  the  second  day  of  June,  when  the 
young  man  entered  Williamsburg,  and  on  the  morning  of 
Monday,  the  fifth,  he  was  informed  by  a  message  from  Cap 
tain  Fellowes  of  the  "  Charming  Sally,"  that  at  twilight  the 
brig  would  sail  for  Europe. 

He  hastened  to  make  the  final  preparations  for  his  long 
journey,  and  as  this  was  to  be  his  last  sight  of  Virginia,  he 
sought  all  his  friends  to  say  farewell. 

The  stranger  was  absent,  and  he  sought  him  in  vain  at 
the  well-remembered  place;  with  a  sigh,  he  gave  up  the 
search  and  retired. 

As  he  went  toward  the  Raleigh,  where  his  horse  was 


462  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

waiting,  he  met  Captain  Waters,  who  was  strolling  along 
humming  a  song. 

When  he  announced  his  intention  of  departing,  the 
worthy  captain  stood  aghast,  and  then  he  plied  every  pos 
sible  argument  to  induce  him  to  change  his  resolution. 

We  need  scarcely  say  that  these  arguments  were  in  vain, 
and  at  the  end  of  an  hour  the  captain  found  that  he  had 
simply  expended  so  much  breath  in  vain. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  never  have  I  seen  such  a  perfect  block ! 
Mark  me,  friend,  you  '11  regret  this  proceeding  !  It  is  the 
maddest  thing,  morbleu  !  which  I  ever  heard  of!" 

"  I  know  you  think  so." 

"  Parbleu  !  I  do  think  so ;  but  as  you  are  determined,  I  . 
have  no  more  to  say." 

"  I  know  I  have  your  good  wishes,  my  dear  friend,  and  I 
believe  you  sincerely  regret  our  parting.  But  believe  me, 
't  is  necessary  for  me  to  go.  When  I  shall  return  I  know 
not." 

"  Basta !"  cried  the  captain,  knitting  his  brows,  "  that 's 
the  very  thing !  If  you  were  coming  back  soon  't  would 
be  quite  another  thing,  but  I  doubt  if  you  '11  ever  return  !" 

"And  I  too,  my  dear  captain,  most  seriously.  Well,  well, 
I  must  go.  You  would  not  ask  me  to  stay  if  you  knew 
why  I  go.  Tell  your  brother,  whose  relationship  to  you, 
strangely  enough,  never  occurred  to  me  until  lately — tell 
Mr.  Charles  Waters  good  bye  for  me." 

"  There  it  is !  you  take  this  moment  when  he  's  away. 
He  'h1  be  furious  !" 

And  the  captain  frowned  to  hide  his  emotion. 

"  I  would  willingly  defer  my  departure  to  see  him,"  said 
St.  John,  sadly,  "but  I  have  staid  longer  now  than  I  intend 
ed  owing  to  Tom  Alston's  sickness.  The  '  Charming  Sally' 
sails  at  twilight  with  the  wind." 

"The 'Charming  Sally?" 

"  Yes." 
f  "  You  go  in  her  ?" 

"  This  evening." 


HENRY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  463 

"  Captain  Fellowes  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  captain's  name.  What  are  you  thinking 
of?" 

The  captain's  brows  drooped,  and  a  sigh  shook  his 
breast. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  old  times,  mon  ami,  and  of  other 
faces.  Pardon  me,  't  is  a  bad  habit,  and,  morbleu  !  I  must 
break  myself  thereof.  But  again  she  rose  before  me  as  I 
heard  that  name — the  old  days  all  rushed  back — I  saw 
her,  Beatrice,  one  whom  you  never  knew,  whom  I  loved  ! 
There !  there !  my  mind  wanders  to  another  epoch.  Let 
us  dismiss  the  subject." 

St.  John  inclined  his  head. 

"  Yonder  is  Jack  Hamilton,"  he  said,  gazing  sadly  at  the 
approaching  figure,  "  I  will  bid  him  farewell  again ;  a  long 
farewell,  for  I  shall  never  return." 

And  the  young  man  smiled,  but  so  sorrowfully  that  a 
moisture  came  to  the  soldier's  brilliant  eye. 

"  Venire  Sainte  Chris  /"  cried  the  captain,  dashing  his  hand 
across  his  eyes  ;  "  do  you  know,  comrade,  you  make  me  cry 
like  a  baby  with  your  sad  way  of  talking  ?  Something 's 
wrong  with  me  or  I  never  would  feel  thus." 

"  Something 's  right  with  you,  friend,"  said  St.  John, 
again  smiling,  as  he  looked  at  the  honest  soldier;  "'tis 
your  heart !" 

And  leading  Tallyho  by  the  bridle,  he  went  to  meet  Jack 
Hamilton,  whose  face  at  sight  of  St.  John  clouded  over,  and 
lengthened  deplorably. 

To  all  the  protestations  and  persuasive  arguments  of  his 
friends  the  young  man  made  brief  replies.  He  must  go ; 
all  was  ended. 

"  Could  any  thing  induce  me  to  continue  in  Virginia," 
he  said,  "  't  would  be  the  true  hearts  of  men  like  you — faces 
I  would  not  go  away  from  but  for  an  inexorable  destiny 
which  drives  me.  You  will  think  of  me  sometimes,  though, 
will  you  not  ?"  he  said,  holding  a  hand  of  each.  "  Under 
other  stars  I  will  think  of  you,"  and  pressing  the  hands  of 


464  HENBY  ST.  JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

the  two  men,  who  looked  at  him  with  drooping  heads,  the 
young  man  made  a  movement  to  get  into  the  saddle. 

At  the  same  moment  he  heard  his  name  uttered  by  the 
voice  of  a  child,  and,  turning  around,  found  himself  accosted 
by  Blossom. 

The  child  was  almost  breathless  with  the  haste  she  had 
used  to  reach  him,  and  her  bosom  labored  heavily  for  a  mo 
ment.  Then,  regaining  her  breath,  she  said,  looking  at  Mr. 
St.  John  with  deep  affection, 

"  You  will  not  leave  us,  will  you,  sir  ?" 

"  I  must,  my  child ;  I  am  glad  I  have  met  you.  Take 
my  love  and  this  kiss,"  he  added,  stooping  and  pressing  his 
lips  to  those  of  the  child,  "  and  pray  for  me." 

The  tears  rushed  to  Blossom's  eyes,  and  she  clung  to  his 
hand  obstinately. 

"  Oh,  do  not  go !"  she  said,  sobbing,  "  please  do  not  go, 
sir!" 

"  I  must,  my  dear.  'T  is  written,  as  the  Orientals  say. 
Farewell !" 

Blossom  seemed  to  be  too  much  overcome  to  speak,  but, 
seeming  suddenly  to  remember  something,  put  her  hand 
into  her  pocket  and  took  therefrom  a  letter. 

"  Papa  told  me  to  give  you  this  or  make  Uncle  Ralph 
give  it  to  you,"  she  said,  blinded  with  tears ;  then,  bursting 
into  sobs  again,  she  cried,  "  Oh,  do  not  go  away !  please  do 
not  go  away !  Papa  said  you  were  going  away  never  to 
come  back.  Oh !  please  do  not  go  !" 

The  young  man  smiled  sadly,  but  shook  his  head.  His 
eye  fell  carelessly  upon  the  letter,  which  seemed  to  be 
double,  and  he  tore  it  open.  It  was,  in  truth,  two  letters. 
The  first  was  in  the  hand-writing  of  the  stranger,  and  con 
tained  these  words : 

"  I  have  looked  everywhere  to  find  you,  friend,  having, 
by  a  strange  chance,  received  what  I  know  is  of  importance 
to  you.  'Tis  a  letter  which,  with  this,  I  entrust  to  my 
child,  having  an  instant  call  away  ;  my  foot  is  in  the  stirrup. 
'T  will  reach  you  in  time,  however,  I  do  not  doubt,  for 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  465 

Blossom  has  the  unerring  instinct  of  affection,  to  which  I 
trust. 

"  You  might  remember  that  one  night  when  you  visited 
me  I  opened  my  drawer,  while  you  were  speaking,  and 
drew  forth  a  letter  which  I  looked  at  with  what  probably 
seemed  to  you  discourtesy.  That  letter  was,  however,  about 
yourself,  and  others  have  reached  me  of  the  same  tenor. 
I  have  not  spoken  with  you  about  these  affairs,  but  I  am 
convinced,  that,  in  the  matter  of  your  suffering,  you  are  the 
victim  of  some  diabolical  conspiracy  and  fraud. 

"  To  the  point  now.  I  was  traveling  yesterday  in  Isle  of 
Wight  county,  post  haste,  when,  just  as  I  passed  the  resi 
dence  of  the  man  Lindon,  lieutenant  of  the  guards,  I  was 
accosted  by  a  servant  girl  who  delivered  me  the  enclosed 
letter,  saying  that  her  mistress  bade  her  bring  it  me.  On 
a  slip  of  paper  was  written,  in"  a  woman's  hand,  '  If  you  are 
a  friend  of  justice  and  right  bear  this  to  Mr.  Henry  St. 
John,  of  Prince  George  county.'  I  took  the  letter,  brought 
it  hither,  and  searched  everywhere  for  you.  I  think  it  con 
tains  what  most  nearly  concerns  you,  and,  in  giving  it  to 
Blossom,  I  do  best.  You  must,  necessarily,  visit  Williams- 
burg  for  preparations  before  your  departure,  if  you  depart, 
and  she  or  my  brother  Ralph  will  deliver  it. 

"  I  know  not  what  the  letter  contains,  but  a  presentiment 
— a  sentiment  I  can  not  explain,  bids  me  say  to  you,  do  not 
leave  Virginia  till  you  see  the  woman  who  wrote  that  letter. 

"  I  can  add  no  more,  friend.  My  horse  neighs,  and  the 
cause  calls  me.  Every  moment  now  is  a  century.  Farewell. 

"  C.  W." 

Mr.  St.  John  finished  the  letter,  and,  looking  from  Blos 
som  to  Captain  Waters,  and  from  the  soldier  to  Hamilton, 
with  blank,  wondering  eyes,  seemed  for  a  time  speechless 
with  astonishment  at  the  contents  of  the  stranger's  letter. 

Then,  letting  the  paper  fall,  he  turned  over  the  other  let 
ter,  which  was  securely  sealed  and  directed  to  "  Mr.  Henry 
St.  John,  Prince  George  county." 

Mechanically,  without  looking  at  it  intelligently,  as  it 

20* 


466  HENRY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN. 

were,  he  opened  it  and  held  it  for  some  moments  in  his 
hand  without  reading  it.  Then  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
sheet. 

No  sooner  had  he  read  the  first  few  lines,  however,  than 
a  fiery  flush  blazed  on  his  cheeks,  his  hands  grasped  the  let 
ter  so  violently  as  almost  to  tear  it  asunder,  and  with  his 
distended  eyes  glued  to  the  paper  he  ran  over  its  contents 
rapidly,  and  ending  it,  almost  gasped  for  breath. 

A  deadly  paleness  invaded  his  countenance,  a  tremor  ran 
through  his  frame,  and  holding  out  the  paper,  he  tried  to 
say  to  Waters  and  Hamilton,  "  Read  !"  His  dumb  lips  did 
not  utter  a  sound,  however,  and  he  stood  thus  like  a  statue 
of  marble. 

Waters  caught  the  letter  and  ran  hastily  over  it. 


CHAPTEE  LXXXVII. 

THE     UNRAVELING     OF     THE     MESH. 

THE  letter  was  evidently  written  by  a  woman,  and  ran  as 
follows : 

"  ME.  ST.  JOHN, 

"  The  words  which  you  are  about  to  read  come  from 
one  who  has  been  guilty  of  deception,  treachery,  forgery 
and  robbery,  and  therefore  at  first  you  may  not  give  credit 
to  my  statements.  Before  I  have  finished  what  I  design 
writing,  however,  you  will  give  implicit  credence  to  what 
I  say. 

"I  write  this  at  Agincourt,  the^iiouse  of  your  enemy 
and  rival,  Lindon,  and  I  do  so  at  the  peril  of  my  life.  I 
think  I  can  bribe  the  servant  who  waits  on  me,  however, 
and  whom  her  master  has  sold,  and  I  shall  run  the  risk. 
The  interview  which  I  have  just  had  with  this  man,  and 
his  outrageous  treatment,  have  made  me  resolve  to  hazard 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN",   GENTLEMAN".  467 

every  thing,  and  I  do  not  conceal  the  fact  that  my  motive 
in  addressing  you  is  wholly  to  take  my  revenge  on  him. 

"  The  hours  are  long  here,  sir,  and  I  have  much  time  on 
my  hands.  I  shall  employ  this  leisure  in  revealing  to  you 
the  conspiracy  which  has  made  your  life  miserable,  and  yet 
been  of  no  benefit  either  to  the  one  who  conceived  it  or  to 
his  tool — myself. 

"  Listen,  sir.  I  was  born  in  Italy,  and  my  parents  having 
removed  to  England,  I  was  there  brought  up  and  well  edu 
cated.  Then  they  came  to  Virginia,  and  within  a  year  af 
ter  our  arrival  both  my  parents  died,  and  I  was  thrown  upon 
the  world  without  any  fixed  principles  or  regular  employ 
ment.  I  became  finally  a  seamstress  at  Pate's  shop  in' 
Williamsburg,  and  here  this  man,  London,  who  had  before 
made  me  unworthy  proposals,  came  to  seek  me.  He  had 
many  conversations  with  me,  and  asked  me  if  I  had  nerve 
to  undertake  an  enterprise  requiring  skill  and  secrecy  ;  if  it 
was  done  in  accordance  with  his  views  and  efiected  its  ob 
ject,  he  would  pay  me  one  thousand  pounds. 

"  Follow  me  closely  now,  sir,  in  my  narrative,  and  you 
will  see  the  steps  by  which  your  misery  was  efiected.  I  had 
always  been  avaricious  and  am  now — I  would  seU  my  soul 
for  money,  and  I  do  not  conceal  the  fact.  When  Lindon 
offered  me  the  thousand  pounds,  I  said  I  would  do  any  and 
every  thing  which  he-  demanded.  At  first  he  made  no  dis 
tinct  promise,  and  it  was  only  one  night  at  the  Indian  Camp, 
where  I  accompanied  him  disguised  as  a  man,  that  he  di 
rectly  offered  me  the  large  sum. 

"  JSTow,  would  you  like  to  know  Mr.  Linden's  project  ? 
He  was  in  love  with,  or  at  least  wished  to  marry,  Miss  Vane, 
and  you  were  his  rival.  He  thought  that  if  you  were  re 
moved,  or  what  amounted  to  the  same  thing,  the  girl's  mind 
poisoned  against  you,  she  would  fall  an  easy  prey  to  his  as 
siduity  or  his  wiles.  My  part  was  to  go  to  Vanely  and  thus 
poison  the  young  lady's  heart  against  you.  Of  course  you 
will  hate  and  wish  to  strike  me,  perhaps  kill  me,  after  what 
follows,  but  that  is  nothing.  You  had  much  better  strike 


468  IIEKRY   ST.   JOH3ST,   GENTLEMAN. 

X 

Lindon.    Well,  I  at  once  set  about  my  scheme.     One  day 

the  ladies  came  into  the  shop  and  I  offered  to  work  for  them. 
It  is  not  often  that  seamstresses  will  go  into  the  country, 
and  they  readily  accepted  my  offer.  I  remember  seeing 
you  gazing  from  your  window  at  the  girl  in  a  window  of 
Mr.  Burwell's  house  on  the  night  before  I  left  town  with 
them  in  the  chariot,  and  I  half  relented.  But  the  sum  of 
money  decided  me. 

"  I  went  to  Vanely  and  commenced  my  part  almost  im 
mediately,  but  your  duel  and  what  followed  it  came  too 
soon.  I  waited.  At  last  you  went  to  Williamsburg  to  see 
to  the  repairs  of  your  house,  and  then  I  had  a  fair  field. 
Lindon  had  supplied  me  with  some  of  your  writing,  and  I 
forged  letters  from  you  to  the  girl — letters  which  gradually 
grew  lukewarm,  then  cool,  then  short  and  stiff.  I  inter 
cepted  every  one  which  you  really  wrote  to  her.  Her  let 
ters  to  yourself  I  suppressed,  and  this  I  easily  effected,  as  I 
carried  the  letter  bag  always  to  the  servant  and  received 
it  from  him. 

"  You  came  to  see  the  young  lady  several  times.  On  the 
first  occasion  she  treated  you  coolly ;  I  watched  through  the 
door.  On  the  second,  I  had  so  poisoned  her  mind,  that  she 
would  scarcely  look  at  you ;  and,  on  this  second  visit,  I 
secured  what  I  had  often  coveted,  your  signet  ring.  I 
entered  your  apartment  two  hours  after  midnight,  and  stole 
the  signet  from  the  toilet  table.  Then  mastered  by  curiosi 
ty  to  see  how  a  man  slept  when  his  heart  was  breaking,  I 
approached  your  bed.  You  awoke,  sprung  up,  and  I  had 
just  time  to  escape.  You  probably  supposed  that  it  was  a 
dream  ;  it  was  myself,  sir. 

"  Well,  having  secured  your  signet,  I  had  no  longer  any 
fears.  My  proficiency  in  imitating  hand-writing,  which  I 
had  learned  at  a  common  school  in  England,  enabled  me  to 
forge  letters  from  you ;  and  the  stamp  of  your  motto  on  the 
seal  placed  these  letters  beyond  ah1  doubt.  I  shaped  the 
contents  of  these  letters  so  as  to  indicate  a  gradual  change 
of  feeling  on  your  part.  At  first,  lukewarm  as  I  said,  then 


HENET  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  469 

cool,  then  jesting  and  careless,  then  indifferent.  I  placed 
one  after  another  in  the  mail  bag — and  under  the  forgeries, 
I  saw  the  young  lady  tremble  and  shrink,  and  her  peace  of 
mind  pass  away,  yielding  to  anger  and  despair — until  when 
you  came,  she  refused  to  see  you.  I  could  have  killed  my 
self  for  my  treachery,  for  she  is  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful ; 
but  the  accursed  money  controlled  and  mastered  me. 

"  At  last  the  end  came.  You  wrote  a  letter  which  I  well 
recollect,  for  it  bore  the  marks  of  the  delirium  which  soon 
attacked  you.  It  commenced  with  the  words,  *  Is  it  wrong 
for  me  to  write  to  you  ?'  and  was  written  immediately  after 
that  third  and  last  visit,  upon  which  occasion  she  refused  to 
see  you,  and  you  left  abruptly. 

"  This  letter  very  nearly  reached  her,  for  she  seemed,  by 
a  strange  instinct,  to  suspect  something,  and  now  went  forth 
herself  to  meet  the  servant  who  brought  the  letters  from  the 
office.  On  this  evening  I  accompanied  her,  although  she 
tried  to  repulse  me ;  and  before  she  could  take  the  bag,  I 
had  it  in  my  own  hand.  I  slipped  your  letter  up  my  sleeve, 
and  presented  to  her  the  one  which  I  had  forged  and  held 
ready,  the  post-mark  and  every  thing  down  to  the  rumpling 
of  the  edges,  being  perfectly  feigned.  In  that  letter  I  made 
you  declare  that  you  had  been  too  hasty,  and  would  think 
more  serionsly  before  you  undertook  to  marry ;  and  I  saw 
her  tremble  and  turn  pale  as  she  read  it. 

"  It  was  my  reply  which  you  read.  She  wrote  none — 
pride  succeeded  agony,  and  she  permitted  her  heart  to  break 
in  silence  without  speaking.  I  wrote  the  answer,  in  which 
I  declared,  in  the  character  of  the  young  lady,  that  your 
letter  was  '  strange ;'  that  the  alterations  in  your  manor 
house  concerned  only  yourself;  and  ended,  by  breaking  off 
the  engagement.  I  next  heard  that  you  were  sick — she 
visited  you  in  your  sleep — and  then  you  went  away,  and  all 
was  over.  I  had  accomplished  my  object — I  had  played  my 
part — and  I  had  even  done  it  so  adroitly,  that  she  felt  an 
honorable  scruple  against  uttering  a  word  to  the  family. 
Her  sister  endeavored  in  vain  to  extort  from  her  any  thing 


470  HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

contained  in  my  letters,  and  I  doubt  if  to  this  moment  she 
has  told  any  thing.  Her  pure  and  noble  nature  was  true  to 
itself  through  all ;  and  though  her  heart  was  broken,  she 
did  not  speak.  I  had  thus  conquered  by  fraud,  treachery, 
and  robbery,  a  young  girl's  heart — conquered,  by  appealing 
to  that  immense  weakness  of  woman,  pride — and  I  went  to 
my  master,  after  your  departure,  and  asked  for  my  reward. 

"  What  do  you  suppose,  sir,  was  his  reply  ?  He  denied 
that  he  had  ever  made  any  such  arrangement  with  me ;  and 
when  I  threatened,  in  my  wrath  and  disappointment,  to  ex 
pose  his  part  in  the  matter,  he  took  advantage  of  his  power 
and  made  me  a  close  prisoner  here,  in  his  house  of  Agin- 
court.  Here  I  have  remained  since  the  month  of  October 
last,  the  prisoner  of  this  man,  who  either  watches  over  me 
himself,  or  employs  a  brutal  jailor,  who  has  twice  struck  me, 
as  if  I  were  a  slave  or  a  mad  woman. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  have  now  informed  you  of  the  means  which 
I  used  to  destroy  your  happiness,  and  I  have  shown  you 
that  my  treachery  resulted  in  no  gain.  I  am  about  to  make 
some  amends  for  my  crime  by  informing  you  of  a  scheme 
which  intimately  concerns  your  peace  of  mind.  Lindon 
came  hither  to  my  apartment  yesterday,  and,  in  a  spirit  of 
bravado,  laid  before  me,  at  length,  a  design  which  he  will 
surely  accomplish. 

"  It  is  his  intention  to  waylay  Miss  Vane,  who  is  now 
upon  a  visit  to  Mr.  Burwell's,  in  this  county,  and  who  de 
signs  soon  to  return.  His  intention,  I  say,  is  to  waylay  her 
carriage,  and  bring  her  here  to  this  place  by  force.  Once 
here,  a  hedge  parson,  named  Tag,  is  to  marry  her  to  Lin 
don,  and  the  whole  scheme  will  be  complete. 

"  I  write  these  lines,  as  I  said,  that,  through  your  instru 
mentality,  I  may  have  revenge  upon  this  man.  I  hate  him 
with  a  deadly  hatred,  and,  if  I  have  my  revenge,  you  may 
do  any  thing  you  please  with  me.  I  care  not. 

"  LUCREZIA  CARNE. 

"  P.  S. — Since  writing  the  above,  Lindon  has  come  again. 
He  designs  to  accomplish  his  object  upon  Monday,  the  5th 


HENBY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  471 

of  June,  when,  he  has  learned,  Miss  Vane  sets  out  on  her 
return." 

These  were  the  words  which  made  St.  John  turn  pale  and 
crimson,  and  his  eyes  blaze  as  with  lightning. 

Captain  Waters  had  scarcely  read  five  lines  before  St. 
John  seized  the  letter  and  pointed  hoarsely  to  the  last  para 
graph,  then  to  the  postscript. 

"  To-day  is  the  fifth  of  June  !"  cried  the  young  man,  as 
Waters  and  Hamilton  looked  at  the  letter  with  wondering 
eyes,  "  and  it  is  past  noon  already  !" 

Captain  Waters,  without  a  word,  pointed  to  the  young 
man's  horse,  and  then  hastened  into  the  Raleigh  for  his 
own.  Hamilton  followed  him. 

In  fifteen  minutes  the  three  men  left  Williamsburg  at  a 
furious  gallop,  and,  on  fire  with  excitement,  struck  the  spurs 
into  their  horses  and  took  the  open  highway  to  the  south. 


CHAPTER    LXXXVIII. 

FIBE     AND     STOEM. 

THEY  rapidly  crossed  the  river,  plunged  into  the  forest, 
and  fled  straight  across  the  country  in  the  direction  of  the 
point  which  they  wished  to  reach. 

St.  John  was  well  acquainted  with  the  district,  and  chose, 
with  unerring  precision,  the  shortest  roads. 

Leaning  forward  in  his  saddle,  the  young  man  seemed 
to  be  devoured  by  a  terrible  passion,  and,  at  every  bound, 
he  struck  his  horse  furiously  with  the  spur,  and  shouted 
hoarsely  to  him,  as  though  he  were  a  human  being. 

Tallyho  responded  nobly  to  his  master's  will,  and  the  man 
and  the  animal  fled  onward  like  a  single  body. 

The  captain  and  Hamilton  were  at  St.  John's  side.  Rid 
ing  Selim,  that  noble  Arabian  who,  in  old  days,  had  dis- 


472  HENRY  ST.   JOHN",    GENTLEMAN. 

tanced  the  best  steeds  of  Virginia,  and  whose  speed  age  had 
not  diminished,  leaning  over,  as  did  St.  John,  and  impelled 
by  the  same  passion  which  drove  his  friend  on  like  a  tem 
pest,  the  worthy  soldier  kept  pace  with  the  most  furious 
rush  of  his  companion,  and  strained  his  eyes  forward  into 
the  distance. 

"  We  '11  kill  our  horses,  if  necessary,"  said  the  young  man, 
hoarsely,  "  but  we  '11  arrive  !" 

"  We  '11  arrive  !"  repeated  the  soldier  and  Hamilton,  and 
they  plunged  their  spurs  into  their  animals. 

The  three  horses  ran  neck  and  neck,  and,  passing  now 
like  shadows  over  the  soft,  sandy  road,  they  resembled 
phantoms  intent  upon  some  weird  enterprise  of  darkness. 

It  was  not  long  before  actual  darkness  came  to  add  veri 
similitude  to  the  idea.  The  west,  which  had  been  clear  an 
hour  before,  now  filled  with  black  clouds,  and,  from  these 
clouds,  piled  up  in  huge  ebon  masses,  fringed  by  the  crimson 
of  sunset,  flashes  of  lightning  began  to  gleam,  illuminating 
the  whole  heavens  with  their  lurid  splendor. 

One  of  those  brief  but  terrible  storms  which  visit  Vir 
ginia  at  this  season,  was  lowering,  and  the  mutter  of  thun 
der,  every  moment  growing  louder,  showed  that  the  tempest 
was  near  at  hand. 

The  cavaliers  still  pushed  on  at  headlong  speed,  without 
uttering  a  word.  The  hot  mouths  of  the  horses  were  nearly 
touching,  the  clouds  of  foam,  from  their  burning  nostrils, 
mingled  and  fled  away  in  the  gathering  darkness. 

"  If  they  are  married  when  we  arrive,  I  '11  make  the  new 
wife  a  widow !"  cried  the  young  man,  through  his  clenched 
teeth,  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  passion.  "  I  '11  plunge  my 
sword  into  his  heart,  as  I  would  into  a  dog's." 

"  And  I !"  added  Hamilton. 

"  Good !"  said  the  captain. 

"Faster!  faster!"  howled  the  young  man;  "every  in 
stant  is  a  lifetime !" 

And  he  plunged  his  spur  anew  in  "  Tallyho,"  who  leaped 
ten  feet  and  quivered. 


HENEY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  473 

Hamilton  and  the  captain  were  at  the  side  of  their  friend 
still. 

"  How  far  ?"  said  Hamilton. 

"  Five  miles  only !     Come !" 

As  the  young  man  spoke,  a  dazzling  flash  darted  from  the 
black  clouds,  and  a  roar  of  thunder,  like  the  discharge  of  a 
battery,  shook  the  forest. 

The  startled  animals  snorted,  and  fled  on  beneath  the 
overshadowing  boughs  of  the  forest  more  rapidly. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  no  word  was  spoken,  no  sound 
was  heard,  but  the  rumbling  of  thunder,  and  the  rapid  hoof- 
strokes  of  the  horses. 

Suddenly  they  issued  forth  into  the  open  country,  and  St. 
John  stretched  out  his  hand  and  said,  hoarsely, 

"  There  is  the  house  !" 

"  Where  ?"  said  the  captain. 

"  There,  rising  over  the  woods !     Faster !" 

And  the  young  man  struck  his  horse,  with  his  clenched 
hand,  on  the  neck. 

The  captain  looked  in  the  direction  indicated,  and  saw  a 
large  edifice,  embowered  in  foliage,  and  gilded  now  by  the 
lurid  rays  of  the  bloody  sun  flashing  from  beneath  the 
thunder  cloud  as  it  sunk  from  sight. 

"  Is  that  Lindon's  ?"  he  said. 

"  Yes  !  how 's  your  horse  ?" 

"  Quite  fresh  yet !" 

"  And  mine 's  nearly  dead,  but  that 's  nothing." 

They  fled  on. 

The  storm,  which  had  been  long  gathering,  now  seemed 
about  to  burst.  Vivid  flashes  of  lightning  succeeding  each 
other  with  rapidity,  illuminated  the  darkness,  and  the  very 
earth  seemed  shaken  by  the  warring  thunder,  which  crashed 
down  like  the  rush  of  an  ocean. 

The  frightened  horses  rather  flew  than  ran,  and  their 
coats,  bathed  in  sweat  and  foam,  showed  the  immense  ex 
ertion  they  had  undergone. 

Another  woods  was  passed  through,  and  just  as  darkness 


474  HENET   ST.   JOHN,    GEOTLEMAN. 

and  storm  descended,  the  three  men  drew  up  before  the 
edifice. 

A  vivid  blaze  of  lightning  struck  the  great  elm  at  the 
door  as  they  checked  their  foaming  horses,  and  splintered  it 
from  top  to  bottom. 

At  the  same  moment  a  blinding  torrent  of  rain  descended, 
and  the  three  men  threw  themselves  from  the  saddle  and 
rushed  forward. 

In  another  moment  they  stood  in  the  great  hall  of  the 
house,  and  their  eyes  penetrated  into  the  large  apartment. 

Had  not  the  captain  laid  a  violent  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  St.  John,  the  young  man  would  have  burst  into  the  room. 

The  sight  was  enough  to  arouse  him. 

With  his  back  to  the  door,  Lindon  stood  with  one  arm 
round  Bonnybel,  who  seemed  nearly  fainting — in  front  of 
the  couple,  Tag,  the  miserable  hedge-priest,  with  an  open 
prayer  book  in  his  hand,  was  reading  the  marriage  serv 
ice. 

Two  rough-looking  men  stood  by  as  witnesses,  and  in  a 
corner,  bowed  down  upon  a  chair,  old  Cato,  the  Vanely 
coachman,  was  ringing  his  hands  and  crying  like  a  child. 

Suddenly  the  words  resounded,  "  If  any  man  can  show 
just  cause  why  this  couple  may  not  lawfully  be  joined  to 
gether,  let  him  now  speak,  or  else  hereafter  for  ever  hold 
his  peace." 

A  scream  from  the  girl,  so  piercing  and  full  of  anguish 
that  it  rose  above  the  very  roar  of  the  storm,  sent  a  shudder 
through  the  frames  of  the  auditors  without,  two  of  whom 
held  back  the  third,  whose  eyes  glared  like  a  madman's  as 
he  looked. 

"O,  no!  no!"  cried  the  girl,  struggling  to  disengage 
herself  from  Lindon's  arm ;  "  he  brought  me  here  by  force  ! 
I  was  seized  and  dragged  here !  I  will  die  before  I  become 
his  wife !" 

The  girl  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words,  and  still 
writhed  to  get  free,  when  St.  John  broke  from  his  com 
panions  and  threw  himself,  like  a  wild  beast,  upon  Lindon. 


HENHY  ST.  JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  475 

So  tremendous  was  the  blind  passion  of  the  young  man, 
that,  great  as  was  the  strength  and  bulk  of  his  adversary, 
he  was  hurled  to  the  ground  like  a  child — St.  John  falling 
with  his  enemy,  locked  in  a  mortal  embrace. 

At  the  same  instant  the  captain  and  his  companion  rushed 
with  drawn  swords  upon  the  accomplices,  who,  uttering 
cries,  retreated  before  them  hastily  and  disappeared  in  the 
darkness. 

St.  John's  struggle  with  Lindon  was  not  protracted.  The 
infuriated  man  caught  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  and  placing  the 
muzzle  on  his  enemy's  breast,  drew  the  trigger.  The  mm-- 
derous  weapon  hung  fire,  and  a  blow  on  the  head,  from  the 
sword  hilt  of  St.  John,  made  him  relax  his  grasp,  and  fall 
back. stunned  and  senseless. 

St.  John  rose  to  his  feet,  pale  and  bleeding  from  a  wound 
in  his  temple,  and  seeing  the  girl  totter,  at  the  moment,  to 
ward  a  chair,  he  placed  his  arm  round  her,  and  prevented 
her  from  falling. 

She  clung  to  him  in  an  agony  of  terror,  with  the  wild 
agitation  of  a  child  who  flies  to  a  protector,  and  at  the  con 
tact  of  those  arms,  at  that  face  again  laid  near  his  own,  the 
young  man  felt  a  thrill  of  bitter  delight  run  through  his 
frame. 

"  O,  take  me  away !"  she  sobbed ;  "  take  me  from  this 
dreadful  place !  O,  I  shall  die  if  I  stay  here  longer  !" 

"  That  is  true,"  said  a  low  voice ;  "  truer  than  you  think. 
The  house  is  on  fire !" 

And  Miss  Came,  standing  on  the  threshold  of  the  apart 
ment,  pointed  with  her  finger  to  the  adjoining  room.  As 
she  did  so,  a  sudden  gnst  of  smoke  and  flame  invaded  the 
one  which  they  occupied. 

"  In  five  minutes  escape  will  be  cut  off!"  cried  the  pale 
woman,  and  she  disappeared  in  the  hall. 

St.  John  raised  the  girl  in  his  arms  like  a  child,  and  just 
as  the  flame  rushed  roaring  upon  them,  bore  her  forth  into, 
the  storm,  the  whole  broadside  of  the  edifice  bursting  into 
flame. 


476  HEITKY    ST.   JOHIST,   GENTLEMAN. 

"  >T  is  a  horrible  death  "  cried  Hamilton ;  "  he 's  senseless 
and—" 

"  Look !"  shouted  Waters,  "  the  dog 's  come  to  his  wits !" 

In  truth,  Lindon  seemed  to  have  recovered  completely, 
for  in  the  midst  of  the  brilliant  space,  upon  which  torrents 
of  rain  descended,  lit  by  lightning  flashes,  he  appeared  sud 
denly,  pale,  furious  and  despairing. 

Looking  around  him  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  demented, 
he  shook  his  clenched  hand  at  his  enemies,  uttered  a  horrible 
oath,  grasped  at  his  belt,  where  no  sword  hung,  and  leaping 
upon  one  of  the  horses,  disappeared  at  headlong  speed,  like 
a  fury,  in  the  darkness. 

The  wild  vision  had  scarcely  vanished  in  the  forest  when 
another  spectacle  attracted  the  attention  of  the  shuddering 
group. 

It  was  a  woman  at  one  of  the  loftiest  windows  who  half 
threw  herself  out,  driven,  it  seemed,  by  the  scorching  flame. 
The  cry  which  she  uttered  was  awful  in  the  intensity  of  its 
terror.  Suddenly,  however,  she  disappeared,  and  returned 
with  a  cord  which  she  affixed  rapidly  to  the  sill.  Then, 
holding  between  her  teeth  a  casket,  she  swung  by  this  cord 
safely  to  the  top  of  the  great  portico,  slid  with  incredible 
agility  along  the  moulding,  and  fell  to  the  ground,  from 
which  she  rose  and  disappeared  like  Lindon  in  the  storm. 

It  was  Miss  Carne,  who  had  broken  open  the  coffers  of 
her  enemy  and  escaped. 

As  she  disappeared,  the  whole  house  became  one  great 
mass  of  hissing  and  crackling  flame,  and  this  flame  roared 
for  hours  without  cessation,  wall  after  wall  falling  with  a 
crash  until  the  ruin  was  complete. 

Bonnybel  had  long  before  been  assisted  into  the  Vanely 
chariot,  which  old  Cato  got  ready  with  nervous  haste.  Es 
corted  by  the  three  gentlemen  it  was  now  proceeding  rap 
idly  toward  Prince  George  through  the  last  mutterings  of 
the  storm. 

Faint  and  weak,  scarcely  realizing  that  the  scene  through 
which  she  had  just  passed  was.  not  some  hideous  dream,  the 


HENRY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  477 

young  lady  felt  herself  borne  along,  hour  after  hour,  until, 
at  last,  she  saw  the  welcome  walls  of  Vanely,  which  began 
to  loom  out  indistinctly  in  the  first  gray  glimmer  of  dawn. 

The  gentlemen  who  escorted  her  resembled  dusky  shad 
ows  as  they  assisted  her  from  the  chariot.  She  felt  a  letter 
placed  in  her  hand,  heard  some  murmured  words,  and  then 
one  shadow  only  remained  at  her  side. 

Captain  Waters  and  St.  John  set  out  at  once  for  Wil- 
liamsburg  in  pursuit  of  Lindon,  who  had  bent  his  steps 
thither. 

"  Time  enough  afterward  for  explanations,"  said  St.  John, 
as  they  departed  at  full  gallop ;  "  come,  captain,  and  see  me 
excute  my  private  vengeance  I" 


CHAPTER    LXXXIX. 

THE     END     OF     THE     DEAMA. 

THE  speed  of  their  horses  was  so  great  that  the  two  men 
entered  Williamsburg  as  the  sun  was  rising. 

The  leagues  seemed  to  have  fled  from  beneath  the  feet  of 
the  animals — the  gray,  glimmering  landscape  had  flitted  by 
like  a  dream. 

As  they  rushed  onward  toward  the  town  which  gleamed 
before  them  now,  they  heard  a  measured  and  yet  confused 
noise,  at  times  rising  to  a  roar  almost.  Something  impor 
tant  was  evidently  taking  place. 

The  hoofs  of  the  horses  clashed  on  the  stones  ;  the  riders 
leaned  forward  in  the  saddle  to  see  what  was  going  on.  In 
an  instant  they  were  in  the  midst  of  a  shouting  and  tumult 
uous  crowd. 

The  capital  seemed  convulsed. 

The  crowd  which  had  thronged  the  streets  three  or  four 
days  before  seemed  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  fiery 


478  HENBY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

multitude  which  now  surged  to  and  fro  from  the  college  to 
the  capitol — from  the  palace  of  the  governor  to  the  old 
magazine.  This  last  was  the  center  from  which  radiated 
the  shouts  and  cries — the  heart  from  which  the  hot  blood 
flowed. 

The  whole  population  seemed  driven  to  fury.  The  two 
men  heard  that  hoarse  and  somber  roar  which  accompanies 
the  movements  of  an  enraged  multitude,  as  it  does  the  toss 
ing  of  the  sea  when  lashed  by  tempests. 

At  one  spot,  before  the  old  magazine,  the  excitement 
seemed  to  culminate.  Here  the  huge  waves  of  the  crowd 
rolled  to  and  fro,  surrounding,  with  their  tumult  and  uproar, 
the  form  of  a  man  who  succeeded  in  standing  erect  only  by 
leaning  on  the  shoulders  of  two  others. 

This  person  was  pale  and  bleeding  from  a  wound  in  the 
shoulder. 

"  Jkforbleu  !  something  strange  has  happened !"  muttered 
the  captain ;  "  let  us  find  out,"  and  he  addressed  his  question 
to  one  of  the  crowd.  The  information  was  soon  obtained. 
Dunmore  had  affixed  concealed  spring  guns  at  the  door  of 
the  magazine,  and  the  wounded  man,  in  opening  the  door, 
had  received  a  full  charge  of  slugs  in  his  shoulder  and 
breast. 

The  face  of  the  soldier  flushed  like  fire,  and  his  hoarse  ex 
clamation  was  added  to  those  of  the  crowd,  which  every 
moment  seemed  to  lash  itself  to  greater  fury. 

"Ah,  well!"  he  growled,  bringing  round  the  hilt  of  his 
sword  ;  "  the  moment  comes  at  last !  we  will  fight,  friend  ! 
Listen  to  that  roar,  like  the  growl  of  a  lion  at  bay  !  And 
look  yonder !" 

St.  John  followed  the  pointed  finger,  and  saw  that  the 
Governor's  guards,  mounted  and  fully  equipped,  were  drawn 
up  before  the  gate  of  the  palace.  Two  loaded  cannon  were 
directed  point  blank  upon  the  furious  multitude. 

St.  John  pushed  his  horse  through  the  agitated  mass,  and 
riding  up  to  the  cannon,  followed  close  by  Waters,  said  to 
one  of  the  men  who  recognized  him, 


HENBY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLKAf AJT.  479 

"  Where  is  your  captain — Mr.  Lindon  ?" 

The  man  whom  he  addressed  looked  strangely  at  him,  and 
replied  with  the  single  word, 

"  Within." 

"  Come  friend,"  cried  St.  John,  throwing  himself  from  his 
horse,  the  bridle  of  which  he  hastily  affixed  to  the  wall ; 
"  let  us  enter !  Our  game  is  not  here !" 

"  You  are  right !"  growled  the  captain,  dismounting 
quickly ;  "  my  game  too  is  there — it  is  Foy !" 

And  they  hurried  onward  to  the  palace.  It  was  in  the 
wildest  confusion.  The  servants  were  hastening  in  every 
direction  with  affrighted  looks,  and  there  was  no  one  to  an 
nounce  them. 

St.  John  heard  the  voice  of  Dunmore,  however,  in  the 
great  apartment  which  he  knew  so  well ;  and  without  cere 
mony  threw  open  the  door. 

As  he  did  so,  Captain  Foy,  who  was  rushing  out,  struck 
against  him.  The  secretary  was  armed  to  the  teeth.  A 
heavy  saber  rattled  against  his  horseman's  boots,  and  his 
leather  belt  was  stuck  round  with  pistols.  His  somber 
calmness  had  all  disappeared.  His  dark  eyes  burned  with 
ferocious  excitement,  and  a  sort  of  audacious  pride;  his 
cheek  flushed  with  the  thought  of  the  coming  contest.  As 
he  rushed  by  toward  the  hostile  crowd,  he  seemed  filled 
with  the  gaudium  certaminis. 

He  scowled  and  then  smiled  with  grim  satisfaction,  as  he 
recognized  the  two  men ;  and  then  in  a  martial  and  strident 
voice, 

"  Come,  Captain  Waters !"  he  said  ;  "  the  moment  has 
arrived.  The  pen  yields  to  the  sword  as  I  promised  you  !" 

A  flush  of  joy  rushed  to  the  martial  features  of  Waters, 
aud  leaving  the  side  of  his  companion,  he  rushed  after  Foy. 

"  I  will  be  with  you  in  an  instant !"  said  St.  John.  "  I 
have  my  own  game  too.  In  a  moment — or  Lindon  will  es 
cape  !" 

And  as  the  two  men  disappeared,  he  hastily  entered  the 
apartment  of  the  Governor. 


480  HENBY  ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN. 

But  he  recoiled  from  the  threshold. 

At  the  sight  which  greeted  him,  he  turned  pale  and  trem 
bled  ;  a  cold  sweat  burst  from  his  forehead,  looking  around 
as  though  seeking  for  some  means  of  escape  from  the  spec 
tacle  which  riveted  his  staring,  and  horror-struck  eyes. 

Stretched  on  a  sofa  opposite  the  table  of  the  Governor, 
lay  the  dead  body  of  Lindon,  clearly  relieved  against  the 
red  damask  of  the  couch. 

His  haughty  features  were  deadly  pale — his  heavy  brows 
were  knit  into  a  frown  of  rage  and  despair — his  entire  frill 
and  waistcoat  were  bathed  in  blood  ;  and  looking  again,  the 
young  man  saw  that  his  bosom  was  completely  torn  to 
pieces. 

St.  John  recoiled  in  irresistible  horror.  As  he  did  so, 
Dunmore,  who  was  surrounded  by  his  crouching  and  terror- 
stricken  family,  rose  wrathfully  to  his  feet. 

"  So  you  come,  like  a  vulture,  to  croak  over  death !"  he 
cried,  hoarse  with  passion  and  agitation ;  "  you  scent  the 
carrion,  and  rush  toward  it !" 

The  young  man  was  speechless  with  horror  and  disgust 
at  the  spectacle,  and  the  words  of  Dunmore.  He  could  not 
speak. 

"  You  do  not  answer  !  you  pretend  ignorance  !"  cried  the 
Governor,  looking  at  the  dusty  garments  and  horseman's 
boots  of  St.  John  ;  "  you  would  say  that  the  death  of  this 
person  was  unknown  to  you !  Well,  I  '11  soon  explain  that, 
sir !  I  placed  guns  to  defend  the  arms  of  his  Majesty  in 
the  magazine,  from  the  rioters  of  this  capital  and  province. 
For  what  reason  I  know  not,  nor  do  I  care,  Mr.  Lindon 
went  thither,  and  met  with  the  accident  that  resulted  in  his 
death!  I  suppose  you  will  say  that  it  was  all  my  fault !  I 
say  it  was  his  own.  He  deserted  me,  and  met  his  reward." 

St.  John  almost  recoiled  from  the  speaker,  as  he  had  done 
from  the  dead  body — with  a  sentiment  of  awful  horror  and 
disgust.  Then  his  mind's  eye,  with  a  lightning-like  glance, 
saw  Lindon  again  rushing,  without  his  sword,  from  the  burn 
ing  house — he  imagined  the  unfortunate  man  flying  to  Wil- 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAH.  481 

liamsburg — he  saw  him  stop  at  the  magazine,  the  key  of 
which  he  carried,  to  procure  a  sword  ;  he  heard  the  tre 
mendous  explosion,  and  saw  them  bear  the  shattered  and 
bleeding  body  to  the  palace. 

"  Yes,  he  met  with  his  proper  reward !"  repeated  Dun- 
rnore,  with  wrathful  agitation ;  "  you  do  not  answer,  sir. 
Am  I  not  to  hear  your  highness'  insults  ?" 

St.  John  had  no  time  to  reply.  A  roar,  like  that  of  a 
great  dyke  giving  way  to  the  rush  of  waters,  rolled  in  from 
the  street.  The  crowd  had  just  discovered  several  barrels 
of  gunpowder,  buried  beneath  the  floor  of  the  magazine, 
with  trains  attached  ;  and  this  new  enormity,  in  addition 
to  the  rest,  made  their  anger  perfect  fury. 

As  the  menacing  thunder  reverberated,  the  ladies  of  the 
Governor's  family  rose  to  their  feet  with  irrepressible  terror. 
Trembling  like  aspens — pale,  fear-stricken,  overwhelmed — 
they  looked  toward  the  door,  and  awaited  a  repetition  of 
the  sound. 

Their  panic  was  shared  by  the  Governor.  His  corn-age 
seemed  to  give  way,  his  cheek  grew  pale,  and  turning  to 
ward  the  man  whom  he  had  just  insulted,  he  faltered  out, 

"  These  people  will  tear  us  to  pieces !" 

St.  John  looked  away  from  the  speaker  with  a  curl  of  the 
lip  which  he  could  not  repress ;  his  gaze  fell  upon  the  ladies, 
and  he  saw  Lady  Augusta,  the  friend  of  Blossom,  gazing  in 
to  his  face,  with  so  helpless  and  beseeching  a  glance,  that 
his  heart  melted  in  his  breast. 

"  Fear  nothing,  madam,"  he  said,  replying  in  words  to 
the  look,  and  bowing  with  grace  and  ceremonious  courtesy  ; 
"  the  men  of  Virginia  do  not  make  war  on  women.  I  will 
preserve  you  from  insult  with  my  life,  if  that  is  necessary." 

And  turning  to  the  Governor, 

"  I  place  myself  wholly  at  your  Excellency  orders,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  think  that  the  ladies  should  leave  the  palace." 

"  Yes,  yes !  and  I,  too,  sir !  I,  too,  will  go !  I  will  no 
longer  remain  where  my  life  is  threatened  !" 

The  young  man  did  not  wait  for  more.    He  rushed  through 

21 


482  HEXBT    ST.   JOHN,    GEKTLKMAN. 

the  palace  to  the  stables,  with  his  drawn  sword,  compelled 
the  terrified  servants  to  attach  the  horses  to  the  chariot ;  in 
ten  minutes  it  stood  at  the  rear  entrance  of  the  palace. 

The  ladies  were  ready  with  a  few  hastily-gathered  jewels 
and  articles  of  clothing,  and  quickly  got  in  with  the  Gov 
ernor. 

Lady  Augusta  entered  last,  and  St.  John  long  remembered 
the  sweet  look  of  gratitude  which  she  bestowed  upon  him. 

"  Thanks,  Mr.  St.  John,"  she  said,  hurriedly  pressing  his 
hand ;  "  you  are  truly  a  gentleman.  We  may  never  meet 
again,  but  I  will  always  remember  you !" 

And,  whether  by  design  or  accident,  she  dropped  one  of 
her  small  gloves  at  his  feet,  which  he  raised  and  placed  in 
his  bosom,  with  a  low  bow  of  thanks  and  farewell. 

The  door  closed  —  the  coachman,  trembling  with  fear, 
lashed  his  terrified  horses  ;  they  started  at  a  gallop,  and  the 
chariot  disappeared  at  the  moment  when  another  roar  shook 
the  palace. 

St.  John  hastened  to  the  great  gateway — saw  a  wild,  ter 
rible  tumult — was  mounted,  and  spurring  his  animal  into  the 
melee,  before  he  knew  it,  almost,  the  guards  of  the  Governor 
had  charged  the  crowd. 

The  veins  of  the  young  man  seemed  to  fill  with  fire  in 
stead  of  blood  ;  his  eyes  blazed  with  indignation  as  the 
trampling  troopers  bore  down  on  the  unarmed  mass;  his 
sword  flashed  in  the  sun,  and  digging  the  spur  into  the 
quivering  sides  of  his  animal,  he  rushed  upon  Captain  Foy, 
who,  raging  like  a  wild  beast  at  bay,  led  the  guards  in  their 
charge. 

But  suddenly  another  adversary  was  opposed  to  Foy — an 
adversary  who  cried,  as  his  horse  reeled  through  the  mass, 

"  Now  for  the  Coup  of  Reinfels  !" 

Then  St.  John  saw,  raised  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd, 
two  men  clash  together  with  a  noise  like  thunder  —  two 
swords  gleamed  aloft — the  combatants  grappled,  as  it  were, 
for  an  instant,  breast  to  breast,  face  to  face,  and  then,  as  the 
sudden  blast  of  a  trumpet,  and  the  sound  of  galloping  horses 


HENKY  ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN.  483 

resounded  from  the  other  end  of  Gloucester  street,  the  com 
bat  came  to  its  termination.  Captain  Waters  rose  erect,  with 
his  hat  slashed  in  two,  and  the  blood  flowing  from  a  slight 
wound  in  his  temple ;  Captain  Foy  dropped  his  saber,  and 
turning  deadly  pale,  fell  forward  on  the  neck  of  his  horse. 
His  opponent's  weapon  had  passed  through  his  body. 

The  trumpet  and  galloping  horses  announced  a  company 
from  the  county  of  James  City,  and  they  came  on  now  with 
shouts  and  cries ;  the  guards  were  seen  to  waver  and  fall 
back.  When  it  was  known  that  their  captain,  Foy,  was 
disabled,  they  lost  heart,  and  looked  around  in  despair. 
Then  finally,  as  the  horsemen  swept  on,  they  recoiled  and 
fled,  with  a  last  look  toward  the  palace,  from  which  they 
seemed  to  have  expected  succor.  The  chariot  of  the  Gov 
ernor  was  seen  ascending,  at  full  gallop,  a  distant  hill,  and 
in  that  direction  they  now  directed  their  flight,  pursued  by 
the  victorious  shouts  of  their  enemies. 

Foy  glared  at  his  adversary  for  an  instant,  like  a  wounded 
wolf,  with  indescribable  hatred  and  rage ;  his  dark  eyes 
burned  like  coals  in  his  palh'd  face,  and  he  gnashed  his  teeth 
with  a  sort  of  helpless  fury.  Then  turning  his  horse's  head, 
and  shaking  his  clenched  hand  at  his  enemies,  with  a  last 
exertion  of  strength,  he  dug  the  spur  into  his  horse  and  fled 
reeling.  His  unconquerable  spirit  seemed  to  supply  him 
with  strength  to  remain  in  the  saddle.  His  black  horse 
darted  onward  on  the  heels  of  the  rest — the  flying  hoofs 
resounded  for  some  moments  on  the  stones — then,  bearing 
away  his  faint  and  reeling  rider,  the  wild  animal  disappeared 
from  all  eyes. 

As  Foy  thus  vanished,  an  immense  roar  of  victory  re 
sounded,  and  borne  on  by  the  tumultuous  and  shouting  mul 
titude,  St.  John  found  himself  suddenly  by  the  side  of  the 
commander  of  the  reinforcement.  It  was  the  stranger. 
But  no  longer  the  stranger  of  the  past,  in  his  plain  citi 
zen's  accoutrements — the  man  of  the  pen.  It  was  now  the 
man  of  the  sword.  His  belt  was  filled  with  pistols,  a  long 
broad-sword  clashed  against  his  heavy  boots ;  with  his  white 


484  HENRY    ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

and  nervous  hand,  as  supple  and  hard  as  steel,  he  reined  in 
the  fiery  and  plunging  animal  which  he  rode  with  a  grasp 
of  iron. 

His  pale  face  was  slightly  flushed,  his  lips  compressed  with 
icy  resolution,  his  dark,  haunting  eyes,  blazed  with  a  steady 
flame. 

As  his  horse  and  that  of  St.  John  came  in  collision,  the 
young  man  found  his  hand  enclosed  in  the  vice-like  grasp 
of  the  stranger's. 

"  We  meet  again,  friend,"  said  the  stranger,  in  his  collect 
ed  voice,  which  sounded  low  and  clearly  in  the  midst  of  the 
immense  tumult ;  "  I  told  you  that  events  were  ripening — 
that  the  storm  rushed  on.  We'll  see  now!  it  has  come! 
hear  its  thunder  !  You  will  soon  see  its  lightning !" 

"Yes,"  replied  St.  John,  gazing  with  absorbing  interest 
at  the  pale  martial  face,  "  yes  !  the  tongue  and  the  pen  are 
about  to  yield — to  yield  to  the  sword,  as  you  said." 

"They  have  yielded  !  They  disappear!"  cried  the  stran 
ger,  with  a  glance  of  fiery  joy  and  pride.  "  We  have  found 
what  we  wanted — the  sword  /" 

"  You  have  found  it  ?  found  the  leader  ?" 

"  Yes !  the  man  who  will  lead  us  to  glory  and  victory  ! 
He  is  already  elected  general  in  chief  of  the  armies  of  North 
America !" 

"  His  name  ?" 

"  George  Washington  !" 

As  though  in  response  to  the  utterance  of  the  name,  a 
deafening  cheer  rose  above  the  multitude,  making  the  horses 
start  and  rear. 

The  flag  of  St.  George — the  banner  of  England — which 
had  waved  above  the  magazine,  was  seen  to  drop.  Then, 
obeying  the  strength  of  the  hundred  hands  which  caught 
the  ropes,  it  slowly  descended,  amid  the  shouts  of  the  great 
crowd. 

In  an  instant  it  had  disappeared.  It  was  trampled  be 
neath  the  feet  of  the  roaring  multitude,  and  torn  into  a 
thousand  shreds. 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,   GENTLEMAN.  485 

"  Look,  friend !"  cried  the  stranger,  with  glowing  eyes, 
"  see  the  banner  of  England  trodden  down  and  torn  to 
pieces !  See  the  beginning  of  the  end  !  the  advent  of  war 
and  revolution!  The  hour  has  struck!  the  day  dawned  ! 
The  old  world  has  passed  away — behold  all  things  from 
henceforth  become  new !" 

The  triumphal  roar  of  cannon  seemed  to  reply  to  the 
words — the  Revolution  had  indeed  beerun. 


CHAPTER  XO. 

A     SUMMER     DAY   AT     "FLOWER     OF     HUNDREDS." 

WITH  the  scenes  which  have  just  been  narrated  our  his 
tory  might  very  well  end,  but  perhaps  by  so  terminating 
it,  we  should  leave  too  much  to  the  imagination  of  the 
reader. 

We  shall  therefore  add  a  few  words  in  relation  to  Mr.  St. 
John,  the  family  at  Vanely,  and  some  other  personages  of 
the  history. 

The  stranger  had  not  used  the  money  which  the  young 
man  deposited  in  his  hands  "  for  the  cause."  He  never  for 
a  moment  had  any  such  intention,  and  soon  after  the  de 
parture  of  St.  John  for  the  Indian  wars,  had  entrusted  the 
entire  sum  to  Colonel  Vane,  with  a  statement  of  the  circum 
stances  under  which  he  had  received  it. 

The  old  gentleman  had  been  ignorant  of  the  young  man's 
return  to  Williamsburg,  Bonnybel  having  never  spoken  of 
their  'meeting  at  the  graveyard,  and  thus  there  had  been 
no  communication  between  the  two  gentlemen. 

Soon  after  the  flight  of  Dun  more,  however,  and  when  St. 
John  went  again  to  Vanely,  and  dissipated  with  a  word 
the  long  misunderstanding,  the  old  gentleman  returned  the 
twenty  thousand  pounds,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  young 
man,  burned,  smiling,  the  deed  by  which  he  had  conveyed 


486  HENET   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN. 

to  Colonel  Vane  all  his  servants.  One  thing  only  remained 
to  be  done — to  repurchase  "  Flower  of  Hundreds"  from  Mr. 
Smith,  the  factor — and  in  this  St.  John  did  not  experience 
any  difficulty.  The  worthy  factor  was  quite  content  to  re 
ceive  back  the  money,  with  interest,  having  found  that  resid 
ing  at  "  Flower  of  Hundreds"  was  neither  in  consonance 
with  his  habits,  which  were  those  of  a  town-dweller,  or  his 
interests,  which  made  his  presence  necessary  in  Williams- 
burg.  The  young  man,  therefore,  found  himself  reinstated 
in  his  family  mansion — the  owner  again  of  his  patrimonial 
acres,  as  though  he  had  never  left  them,  or  parted  with  them. 

We  need  scarcely  say  that  the  cloud  which  had  obscured 
his  relations  with  Bonnybel  had  wholly  disappeared.  Per 
haps  they  loved  each  other  even  more  dearly  than  before 
for  the  woful  misunderstanding  which  had  taken  place. 
There  was  now  no  obstacle  to  their  union,  and  they  were 
accordingly  married  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year.  Two 
other  marriages  took  place  on  the  same  evening  at  Vanely. 
Miss  Seraphina  gave  her  hand  to  the  inconsolable  widower, 
Jack  Hamilton,  whose  business  at  Vanely  now  lay  with  the 
lady — no  longer  with  Colonel  Vane.  And  Helen  rewarded 
the  long  and  persevering  suit  of  honest  Tom  Alston,  whose 
"  shaking"  had  at  last  brought  down  the  fruit. 

On  the  same  morning  Mr.  St.  John  had  been  invited  to 
the  wedding  of  James  Doubleday,  Esq.,  who  was  about  to 
espouse  the  lady  for  whom  he  had  only  a  "  Platonic  regard," 
and  we  may  add  that  there  were  present  at  Vanely,  in  the 
party  of  Captain  Waters  and  his  wife,  who  possessed  but  a 
single  failing,  two  young  people  who,  perhaps,  looked  for 
ward  to  the  day  upon  which  they,  also,  would  be  married. 

These  young  persons  were  Paul  Effingham,  Esq.,  son 
and  heir  of  Champ  Effingham,  Esq.,  of  Effingham  Hall,  and 
Miss  Beatrice  Waters,  otherwise  called  Blossom,  daughter 
of  Charles  Waters,  Esq. 

"  The  son  of  Champ  and  the  daughter  of  Beatrice  !"  mur 
mured  the  captain,  as  his  shoulders  drooped  and  his  eyes 
grew  dreamy  ;  "  what  a  singular  world  !" 


HENRY   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  487 

At  the  door,  on  a  chair  set  for  her,  was  Mammy  Liza ; 
and,  when  the  ceremony  was  over,  Bonnybel  went  to  her 
and  put  her  arms  around  her  neck  and  kissed  her.  It  is 
the  fashion  in  our  country,  gentle  reader. 

So  the  festival  passed,  with  its  joy,  and  merriment,  and 
uproar,  and  bright  eyes,  and  smiles,  and  true  love  was  re 
warded. 

St.  John  did  not  remain  many  days  with  his  bride.  He 
again  girt  on  his  sword,  exchanged  his  buckled  shoes  for 
heavy  horseman's  boots,  and  went  to  join  the  troops  that 
were  marching  against  Dunmore.  He  was  present  at  the 
battle  of  "Great  Bridge,"  where  the  raw  volunteers  of  Vir 
ginia  defeated  the  grenadiers  of  a  crack  English  regiment, 
at  the  burning  of  Norfolk,  and  at  the  terrible  tragedy  of 
"  Gwynn's  Island,"  from  which,  driven  by  General  Andrew 
Lewis,  the  victor  at  "Point  Pleasant,"  and  now  arrayed 
against  him  who  had  endeavored  to  betray  him,  Lord  Dun- 
more,  abandoning  his  mercenaries  and  armed  slaves,  took 
flight,  leaving  thus,  happily  for  ever,  the  soil  of  the  land 
which  he  had  tried  to  enslave. 

St.  John  fought  throughout  the  Revolution,  and  was 
known  to  enjoy  the  confidence  and  warm  personal  regard 
of  the  friend  of  Colonel  Vane,  the  great  leader  of  the  armies 
of  America.  He  only  visited  his  estates  in  Virginia  occa 
sionally  ;  but,  after  Yorktown,  returned  thither  to  go  away 
no  more.  The  sun-burnt  soldier  hung  up  his  sword  on  the 
wall  of  "  Flower  of  Hundreds,"  and  sank  back  to  the  place 
of  a  Virginia  planter. 

Need  we  say  that  a  beautiful  face  appeared  at  the  door  as 
the  aged  "Tallyho"  neighed  joyfully  at  the  great  gate? — 
that  a  form  flitted,  rather  than  ran,  over  the  emerald  grass, 
and,  in  an  instant,  was  weeping  in  the  arms  of  the  soldier  ? 
and  soon  his  knees  were  clasped  by  two  little  urchins  with 
sunny  curls,  and  a  lovely  child,  fast  ripening  into  beautiful 
girlhood,  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  sobbed  for 
joy  upon  his  bosom. 
St.  John  reentered  the  familiar  old  hall  in  the  midst  of 


488  IIENBY   ST.   JOHK,    GENTLEMAN. 

a  joyful  paean  from  a  multitude  of  Africans  with  grinning 
and  delighted  faces  ;  and  then  the  old  chariot  from  Vanely 
was  descried  ascending  the  hill,  the  day  of  his  return  hav 
ing  been  announced  in  a  letter.  The  honest  old  colonel 
limped  forth  with  grimaces  and  warmly  pressed  the  hand 
of  the  young  man.  Old  Cato  did  the  same  with  evident 
satisfaction,  and  good  Aunt  Mabel  placed  her  thin  arms 
around  him  and  gave  him  a  kiss  and  her  blessing. 

They  were  happy  in  the  cheerful  old  mansion,  thus  re 
united,  and  we  leave  them  as  we  found  them — smiling. 


EPILOGUE. 

BY     THE     AUTHOR     OF     THE     MS. 

So  it  ends,  my  simple  old  chronicle;  my  poor  dim- 
colored  picture  of  the  men  and  women,  habitudes  and  cos 
tumes  of  the  days  of  the  Revolution. 

'Twas  an  unknown  land,  and  a  forgotten  generation  which 
I  attemped  to  describe  ;  the  terra  incognita  of  old  Virginia ; 
the  race  of  giants,  looming  now,  as  it  were,  through  mists, 
or  the  smoke  of  battle ;  the  race  which  played  such  a  great 
and  noble  part  in  the  drama  of  those  days  which  tried  men's 
souls. 

I  wished  my  pages  to  embody,  if  that  were  possible, 
some  of  the  secret  influences  which  bore  on  great  events — 
to  paint  the  humble  and  unnoted  source  of  the  great  stream 
of  revolution,  ever  increasing,  and,  at  last,  overthrowing 
all  which  stood  before  it.  To  paint,  too,  the  gallant  youths 
and  lovely  maidens — their  gay  love  encounters,  in  the  old, 
old,  days — their  sorrows  and  joys — their  sighs  and  their 
laughter — their  whispering  voices,  heard  still,  as  we  read 
the  yellow  old  letters  of  the  far  away  Past !  "What  is  it 
that  comes  up  before  the  page  as  we  read  ?  Is  it  a  ghostly 
laughter,  a  glimmer  of  bright  eyes,  a  beautiful  shadow  of 
something  flitting  and  impalpable,  a's  delicate  as  a  reverie  or 


HENKT   ST.   JOHN,    GENTLEMAN.  489 

dream  ?  I  read  the  dim  words,  and  lay  down  the  sheet, 
and  think,  with  smiles,  of  the  gallant  protestations  of  gal 
lants  long  dead— as  dead  as  the  maidens  whom  they  toasted 
long  ago.  Damon  is  gone  this  many  a  day,  and  Celinda 
sleeps  with  the  roses.  The  Philanders  and  Strephons,  the 
Mays  and  the  Cynthias  are  "  white  as  their  smocks,"  or 
their  ruffles — and  so  cold  ! 

Whither  have  you  flown,  O  maidens  of  a  dead  genera 
tion  ?  There  was  a  time  when  you  smiled  and  sighed ; 
when  your  frowns  or  your  laughter  plunged  the  gallants 
into  misery  or  exuberant  delight.  Will  you  come  no  more 
back  if  we  call  to  you,  and  sigh  for  you  ?  Will  you  still  re 
main  silent  and  cold  when  we  adjure  you  ? 

Alas  !  yes.  For  you  are  the  stars  of  another  generation. 
It  is  fourscore  years  since  you  shone  in  the  skies — you  will 
shine  no  more  to  the  eyes  of  mortals.  You  have  crumbled 
to  dust  beneath  emerald  sward  ;  from  your  white  maiden 
breasts  grow  flowers.  You  played  your  merry  parts  be 
neath  the  old  colonial  skies,  and  then  went  away  to  heaven ; 
and  now  we,  your  descendants,  in  another  age,  read  of  your 
happy  faces  with  such  pensive  smiles — ponder  so  wistfully, 
as  we  follow  the  old  story — the  story  which  chronicles  the 
beauty  and  goodness  of  the  dear,  dead  maidens  of  the  Past! 

But  I  am  dreaming.  I  look  on  the  landscape  from  my 
shady  old  porch,  and  only  see  the  faces  of  Bonnybel  and 
her  lover — of  Blossom,  and  Tom  Alston,  and  Kate  Eifing- 
ham.  I  linger  still  in  the  haunted  domain  of  my  memory, 
or  my  fancy,  if  it  please  you.  I  press  the  warm  hands, 
hear  the  musical  voices  ;  but  they  die  away  as  I  listen.  The 
colors  all  fade — the  laughter  is  hushed — no  more  the  gay 
jest  rings  careless  and  free— 'tis  a  company  of  ghosts  which 
I  gaze  at ;  fading  away  into  mist. 

A  glimmer — a  murmur — they  are  gone  ! 


HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


i. 

"Last  evening  the  Eight  Honorable  the  Countess  of  Dunmore,  with 
Lord  Fincastle,  the  Honorable  Alexander  and  John  Murray,  and  the 
Ladies  Catherine,  Augusta  and  Susan  Murray,  accompanied  by  Cap 
tain  Foy  and  his  lady,  arrived  at  the  palace  in  this  city,  to  the  great 
joy  of  his  Excellency  the  Governor,  and  the  inexpressible  pleasure 
and  satisfaction  of  the  inhabitants,  who  made  a  general  illumination 
upon  the  happy  occasion,  and  with  repeated  acclamations  welcomed 
her  ladyship  and  family  to  Virginia." —  Virginia  Gazette. 

"  Lady  Dunmore  is  here — a  very  elegant  woman.  She  looks, 
speaks,  and  moves,  and  is  a  lady.  Her  daughters  are  fine  sprightly, 
sweet  girls.  Goodness  of  heart  flashes  from  them  in  every  look. 
How  is  it  possible  .  .  .  my  Lord  Dunmore  could  so  long  de 
prive  himself  of  those  pleasures  he  must  enjoy  in  such  a  family  ?" — 
Life  of  Q-ouverneur  Morris. 

n. 

"  I  have  since  been  informed  by  Colonel  Lewis  that  the  Earl  of 
Dunmore  (the  King's  Governor),  knew  of  the  attack  to  be  made  up 
on  us  by  the  Indians,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Kanawha,  and  hoped  our 
destruction.  This  secret  was  communicated  to  him  by  indisputable 
authority." — Colonel  John  Stuart's  Narrative.  Deed  Boole  No.  1,  in 
Gh'eeribrier  Clerk's  Office  Va. 

m. 

To-night  another  illumination  makes  the  new  capital  of  Virginia 
blaze.  The  one  hundred  and  twenty-sixth  birth-day  of  a  member  of 
the  House  of  Burgesses,  whose  eyes  beheld  the  scene  we  have  de 
scribed,  has  been  heralded  and  welcomed  with  the  roar  of  cannon, 
and  the  shouts  of  a  great  nation.  To-day  the  equestrian  Washington 
of  Crawford  was  uncovered,  and  greeted  with  that  acclaim  which 


492  HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

hails  the  great  work  of  a  great  genius.  The  member  of  the  Bur 
gesses — Colonel  Washington,  from  Fairfax — is,  in  history,  and  men's 
hearts  and  memories,  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world.  His  Ex 
cellency  Lord  Dunmore  is  forgotten,  or  remembered  only  for  con 
tempt.  So  time  at  last  makes  all  things  even. 

IV. 

A  gentleman  profoundly  read  in  the  private  history,  so  to  speak, 
of  the  Revolution,  stated  to  us,  not  long  since,  that  nothing  had  as 
tonished  him  more,  in  the  course  of  his  researches,  than  the  extraor 
dinary  quickness  and  fidelity  of  the  expresses  at  this  period.  The  post 
was  slow  and  unreliable,  but  news  was  widely  and  expeditiously  dis 
seminated  in  spite  of  the  fact.  In  a  letter  from  R.  K.  Meade  to  Gen 
eral  Everard  Meade,  his  brother,  dated  April,  '75,  the  writer  says 
that  the  intelligence  of  the  battle  of  Lexington  has  just  come  from 
Boston,  "  by  an  express  who  must  almost  have  flown." 

V. 

It  may  be  thought  that  the  costumes  here  spoken  of,  as  in  other 
portions  of  the  volume,  are  heightened  in  brilliancy  by  the  fancy  of 
the  writer. .  To  show  that  the  sketches  are  truthful,  a  curious  descrip 
tion  of  an  elaborate  painting  of  Washington's  wedding  is  appended. 
The  writer  declares  that  the  main  figures  are  taken  from  "  the  original 
pictures  of  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Washington,  the  one  of  the  date  of  1772, 
by  Peale,  and  the  other  of  1759,  by  Woolaston,"  and  then  proceeds : 

"  The  scene  is  laid  in  the  ancient  parish  church  of  St.  Peters,  coun 
ty  of  New  Kent,  colony  of  Virginia,  time,  6th  of  January,  1759. 

"  In  the  foreground,  and  near  the  altar,  appears  the  Rev.  Dr.  Mos- 
som,  the  officiating  clergyman,  in  full  canonicals ;  he  is  about  to  pre 
sent  the  marriage  ring.  The  bridegroom  is  in  a  suit  of  blue  and  sil 
ver,  lined  with  red  silk — embroidered  waistcoat — small  clothes — gold 
shoe  and  knee  buckles — dress  sword — hair  in  full  powder.  The  bride 
in  a  suit  of  white  satin — rich  point-faced  ruffles — pearl  ornaments  in 
her  hair — pearl  necklace,  ear-rings  and  bracelets — white  satin  high- 
heeled  shoes,  with  diamond  buckles.  She  is  attended  by  a  group 
of  ladies,  in  the  gorgeous  costume  of  that  ancient  period.  Near  to 
the  bridegroom  is  a  brilliant  group,  comprising  the  vice-regal  Gov 
ernor  of  Virginia,  several  English  army  and  navy  officers,  then  on 
colonial  service,  with  the  very  elite  of  Virginia  chivalry  of  the  old 


HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS.  493 

regime.  The  Governor  is  in  a  suit  of  scarlet,  embroidered  with  gold, 
with  bag  wig  and  sword — the  gentlemen  in  the  fashion  of  the  time. 

"  But  among  the  most  interesting  and  picturesque  of  the  personages 
in  the  various  groups  is  Bishop,  the  celebrated  body  servant  of  Brad- 
dock,  and  then  of  Washington,  with  whom  he  ended  his  days,  after 
service  of  more  than  forty  years. 

"  This  veteran  soldier  of  the  wars  of  George  II.  forms  a  perfect  study 
in  the  picture.  His  tall,  attenuated  form  and  soldierly  bearing,  as 
with  folded  arms,  and  cocked  hat  in  hand,  respectfully  he  approaches 
the  bridal  group,  gives  a  touching  interest  to  the  whole  scene.  He 
is  in  a  scarlet  coat,  and  is  booted  and  spurred,  having  just  dis 
mounted,  and  relinquished  the  favorite  charger  of  his  chief  to  a  groom. 
Through  the  large  folding  doors  of  the  church  is  seen  the  old-fashioned 
coach  of  the  bride,  drawn  by  six  horses,  also  the  fine  English  charger 
bequeathed  to  Washington,  by  Braddock,  after  the  fatal  field  of  the 
Monongahela.  From  the  account  of  the  marriage,  handed  down 
from  those  that  were  present  at  its  celebration,  it  appears  that  the 
bride  and  her  ladies  occupied  the  coach,  while  the  provincial  colonel 
rode  his  splendid  charger,  attended  by  a  brilliant  cortege  of  the  gay 
and  gallant  of  the  land.  Such  was  Washington's  marriage  in  1759." 

This  splendor,  in  costume  and  personal  adornment,  remained  un 
changed  up  to  the  time  of  the  Eevolution.  Dress  then  shared  the 
change  in  every  thing  else. 

VI. 

For  fear  that  some  portions  of  the  costume  of  Miss  Bonnybel,  as 
here  described,  may  be  regarded  as  merely  of  our  own  invention,  we 
append  an  "Invoice  from  England  to  a  Virginia  lette,"  communicated 
by  a  gentleman  of  Havover  county  to  the  Norfolk  Argus,  February, 
1858: 

A  fashionable  laced  cap,  handkerchief,  tucker  and  ruffles £1  00 

A  fashionable  brocade  suit 16  00 

3pp.tr  stays ...     2  00 

1  blue  silk  petticoat 3  00 

1  scarlet  cloth  under  petticoat 2  00 

1  pair  blue  satin  shoes,  buckled  and  full  trimmed. 1  16 

1  hoop 1  00 

1  pair  blue  silk  stockings 12 

A  fashionable  silver  girdle,  £1 ;  1  fan,  £1 2  00 


£34  08 


It  will  be  seen  that  hoops  and  scarlet  petticoats  are  by  no  means 


494  HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

original  discoveries  of  the  fair  maidens  of  to-day,  and  even  blue  stock 
ings  existed  a  hundred  years  ago. 


vn. 

"  Much  credit  is  due  to  the  ladies  for  the  part  they  took  in  our  as 
sociation,  and  it  does  honor  to  their  sex,  for  no  sooner  were  they 
made  acquainted  with  the  resolutions  to  prohibit  the  use  of  tea,  after 
the  1st  of  June,  but,  before  the  day  came,  they  sealed  up  the  stock 
which  they  had  on  hand,  and  vowed  never  more  to  use  it  till  the  op 
pressive  act,  imposing  a  duty  thereon,  should  be  repealed.  May  their 
example  be  followed  by  all  the  ladies  on  this  continent  1" — Virginia 
Gazette,  June  2,  1774. 

vin. 

The  gentleman  here  spoken  of  seems  to  have  been  Mr.  Richard 
Bland,  of  Jordan's,  the  author  of  the  celebrated  "  Inquiry,"  and  fam 
ous  among  the  old  members  of  the  House  of  Burgesses. 

XIX. 

The  child  of  whom  Miss  Vane  thus  speaks  was  evidently  the  late 
Hon.  John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  so  remarkable  for  his  powers  of 
oratory. 

X. 

The  gentlemen  here  mentioned  appear  to  have  been  those  cele 
brated  patriots  and  leaders,  Archibald  Gary,  Edmund  Pendleton, 
and  Henry  Tazewell. 

XI. 

The  gentleman  alluded  to  was  Mr.  Thomas  Jefferson,  afterwards 
President  of  the  republic. 

XII. 

It  would  appear  that  Mistress  Effingham  failed  to  comply  with  this 
request.  The  verses  may  be  found  in  the  poet's  corner  of  the  old 
"  Virginia  Gazette." 


HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS.  495 

XIII. 

"  The  fair  in  Richmond  town  begins  the  second  Thursday  in  May. 
The  purse  will  be  run  for  the  first  day  of  the  fair  by  any  horse  or 
gelding,  carrying  weight  for  age,  according  to  the  rules  of  racing. 
Certificates  will  be  expected  for  the  ages  of  the  horses,  &c.  Any 
horse  under  size  will  be  allowed  weight  for  size.  All  horses.  &c.,  to 
be  entered  with  James  Gunn,  the  day  before. 

"  2sT.  B. — Any  person  that  is  inclined  to  start  a  horse,  may  become 
a  subscriber  by  sending  a  line  to  James  Gunn." — Virginia  Gazette. 

XIV. 

From  this  it  would  appear  that  the  Vanes  were  of  the  noble  family 
of  the  Vanes,  or  Fanes,  as  it  was  sometimes  spelt,  earls  of  Darlington. 
Their  arms  may  be  found  in  the  "  Book  of  Peerages." 

XV. 

The  lady  here  alluded  to  is  evidently  that  Miss  Rebecca  Burwell 
whom  Mr.  Thomas  Jefferson,  in  his  college  correspondence,  now  pub 
lished,  mentions  under  the  names  of  Belinda ;  and,  spelling  the  name 
backward  in  Greek,  AtSvt/le/?,  and  in  Latin,  Campana  in  die,  Bell  in 
Day.  She  married  Mr.  Jaqueline  Ambler,  the  exemplary  Treasurer 
of  Virginia. 

XVI. 

Thomas  Jefferson,  his  co-worker,  says  of  Henry :  "  He  was  as  well 
suited  to  the  times  as  any  man  ever  was,  and  it  is  not  now  easy  to 
say  what  we  should  have  done  without  Patrick  Henry.  He  was  far 
before  all  in  maintaining  the  spirit  of  the  Revolution.  .  .  .  His 
eloquence  was  peculiar,  if  indeed  it  should  be  called  eloquence,  for  it 
was  impressive  and  sublime  beyond  what  can  be  imagined.  .  .  . 
On  one  or  two  occasions  I  have  seen  him  angry  and  his  anger  was 
terrible ;  those  who  witnessed  it  were  not  disposed  to  rouse  it  again. 
.  .  .  After  all,  it  must  be  allowed  that  he  was  our  leader ;  .  . 
he  left  us  all  far  behind." 

.  .  .  "  He  is  by  far  the  most  powerful  speaker  I  ever  heard," 
says  George  Mason.  "  Every  word  he  says,  not  only  engages,  but 
commands  the  attention,  and  your  passions  are  no  longer  your  own 
when  he  addresses  them." 


496  HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

..."  Mr.  Henry,"  says  Jefferson,  "  certainly  gave  the  first 
impulse  to  the  ball  of  the  Revolution." 


XVII. 

This  chair  is  now  in  the  House  of  Delegates,  at  Richmond. 

i 

xvm. 

"  On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  on  which  he  offered  his  resolutions, 
he  might  have  been  seen  passing  along  the  street,  on  his  way  to  his 
home  in  Louisa,  clad  in  a  pair  of  leather  breeches,  his  saddle-bags  on 
his  arm,  leading  a  lean  horse,  and  chatting  with  Paul  Carrington,  who 
walked  by  his  side." — Mr.  Cfrigsby's  "  Convention  of  '76." 

XIX. 

"  He  was  always  plain  in  his  dress,  and  disliked  changes  in  the  fash 
ions.  '  Here,'  said  he  to  a  friend,  holding  up  his  arm  and  display 
ing  the  sleeve  of  a  coat  the  worse  for  wear ;  '  here  is  a  coat  good 
enough  for  me,  yet  I  must  get  a  new  one  to  please  the  eyes  of  other 
people.'  ....  He  was  wont  to  tell,  with  great  zest,  an  inci 
dent  that  happened  in  the  yard  of  Prince  Edward  court  house,  just 
before  leaving  the  county  to  take  his  seat  in  the  federal  Convention, 
in  Richmond.  An  old  fox-hunter  gave  him  a  sharp  tap  on  the  shoulder, 
and  said  to  him,  '  Old  fellow,  stick  to  the  people ;  if  you  take  the  back 
track,  we  are  gone  1"  " — Mr.  Grisgby's  "  Convention  of  '76." 

XX. 

"  That  mysterious  and  almost  supernatural  transformation  of  ap 
pearance,  which  the  fire  of  his  own  eloquence  never  failed  to  work 
in  him." —  Wirfs  Life  of  Henry. 

XXI. 

"  His  perfect  mastery  of  every  fact  connected  with  the  settlement 
and  progress  of  the  colony,  had  given  him  the  name  of  the  Virginia 
Antiquary.  He  was  a  politician  of  the  first  class,  a  profound  logician 


HISTOBICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS.  497 

and  was  also  considered  as  the  first  writer  in  the  colony." —  Wirf s  * 
Henry. 

11  I  am  _an  old  man,  almost  deprived  of  sight," — BlancCs  speech  in 
the  Convention  of  '75. 

xxn. 
i 

The  traits  here  referred  to  are  all  historical. 

xxm. 

John  Marshall,  afterwards  Chief  Justice  of  the  United  States,  was 
at  the  battle  of  "  Great  Bridge" — not  then  twenty-one. 

XXIV. 

"  Taken  all  in  all,  he  was  the  ablest  man  in  debate  I  have  ever  met 
with." — Jefferson's  Memoirs, 

"  He  had  that  silvery  voice  \yox  argentea),  of  which  Cicero  makes 
such  frequent  and  honorable  mention.  ...  A  perennial  stream 
of  transparent,  cool,  and  sweet  elocution." —  Wirfs  Life  of  Henry. 

"  His  person  was  of  the  first  order  of  manly  beauty,  his  voice  clear 
and  silver-toned,  and  under  perfect  control ;  and  his  manners  were  so 
fascinating  as  to  charm  all  who  came  in  contact  with  him. 
He  had  that  intuitive  love  of  prescription,  which  was  a  marked  trait 
in  the  character  of  almost  all  the  eminent  lawyers  to  whose  exertions 
the  liberties  of  England  were  indebted  for  their  existence.  .  .  . 
He  was  called  on,  not  by  one  party,  but  by  both  parties,  to  fill  all 
the  great  posts  of  the  day,  the  duties  of  which  he  performed  with 
masterly  skill.  .  .  .  He  may  be  regarded  as  yet  only  in  the  be 
ginning  of  his  wonderful  career." — Mr.  Gfrigsby's  il  Convention  of  . 
76." 

XXV. 

"  He  was  nearly  six  feet  high.  .  .  .  Exposure  had  deepened 
the  tints  of  a  light-brown  complexion.  .  .  .  His  portrait  .  . 
may  still  be  seen  at  Clermont.  As  you  look  upon  it  you  pei-ceive 
that  his  dark  eyes  have  that  peculiar  expression,  half  sad,  half  severe 
which  is  seen  in  the  eyes  of  the  painter  Giotto,  the  shepherd  boy, 
whom  Cimabue  found  in  the  recesses  of  the  Alps,  tending  sheep,  and 
who,  like  Mason,  when  he  was  summoned  from  his  forest  home  made 


498  HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

an  era  in  the  history  of  his  art.  .  .  .  The  Declaration  of  Rights 
is  indeed  a  remarkable  production.  ...  It  is  the  quintessence 
of  all  the  great  principles  and  doctrines  of  freedom,  which  had  been 
wrought  out  by  the  people  of  England  from  the  earliest  times.  .  . 
It  received  the  applause  of  the  generation  which  hailed  its  birth,  and 
of  those  generations  which  have  passed  away,  and  will  receive  the 
applause  of  those  to  come.  It  stands  without  a  model  in  ancient  or 
in  recent  times." — Mr.  Grigsby's  "  Virginia  Convention  of  '76." 

"  VIRGINIA,  GUNSTON  HALL,  June  3d,  1781. 
'•  DEAR  GEORGE, 

.  .  .  "  God  bless  you,  my  dear  child !  and  grant  that  we  may 
again  meet,  in  your  native  country,  as  freemen ;  otherwise,  that  we 
never  see  each  other  more,  is  the  prayer  of 

"  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  G.  MASON." 

"  I  recommend  it  to  my  sons,  from  my  experience  in  life,  to  prefer 
the  happiness  and  independence  of  a  private  station  to  the  troubles 
and  vexations  of  public  business  ;  but  if  either  their  own  inclinations, 
or  the  necessities  of  the  times,  should  engage  them  in  public  affairs,  I 
charge  them,  on  a  father's  blessing,  never  to  let  the  motive  of  private 
interest  or  ambition  induce  them  to  betray,  nor  the  terrors  of  poverty 
and  disgrace,  or  the  fear  of  danger  or  death,  deter  them  from  assert 
ing  the  liberty  of  their  country,  and  endeavoring  to  transmit  to  their 
posterity  those  sacred  rights  to  which  themselves  were  born." — Ma 
son's  WiU. 

XXVI. 

"  Gary  barely  reached  the  middle  stature.  He  received,  mainly 
from  his  indomitable  courage,  the  soubriquet  of '  Old  Iron.'  The  face 
of  Gary,  in  youth,  was  remarkably  handsome ;  his  features  small  and 
delicately  chiseled,  his  eyes  of  that  peculiar  brightness  which  may 
yet  be  seen  in  all  his  race.  .  .  .  He  was  a  descendant  of  Lord 
Hunsdon,  and  was  himself,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  the  heir  apparent 
of  the  barony.  He  delighted  in  blooded  horses  and  improved  breeds 
of  stock.  .  .  .  When  the  scheme  of  a  dictator  was  talked  of  in 
the  Assembly  .  .  .  the  friends  of  the  measure  were  in  favor  of 
Patrick  Henry.  Bitterly  opposed  to  such  a  scheme,  .  .  .  Colonel 
Gary  .  .  .  met  the  half  brother  of  Henry  in  the  lobby  of  the 
House,  and  accosted  him,  '  Sir,  I  am  told  that  your  brother  wishes 


HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS.  499 

to  be  dictator.  Tell  him,  from  me,  that  the  day  of  his  appointment 
shall  be  the  day  of  his  death,  for  he  shall  find  my  dagger  in  his  heart 
before  the  sunset  of  that  day.'  " — Mr.  Grigsby's  "  Convention  of  '76." 


XXVII. 

"Richard  Henry  Lee  was  in  person  tall  and  well  proportioned; 
his  features  bold  and  expressive,  nose  aquiline ;  the  contour  of  his 
face  noble.  He  had  lost,  by  an  accident,  the  use  of  one  of  his  hands, 
and  was  sometimes  styled  '  the  gentleman  of  the  silver  hand.'  This 
hand  he  kept  covered  wtth  a  black  silk  bandage,  but  leaving  his 
thumb  free.  Notwithstanding  this  disadvantage,  his  gesture  was 
preeminently  graceful.  .  .  .  His  eloquence  flowed  on  in  tranquil 
magnificence,  like  the  stream  of  his  own  Potomac." —  Campbell 's  Vir 
ginia. 

XXVIII. 

"  When  I  first  saw  Mr.  Henry,  which  was  in  March,  1773,  he  wore 
a  peach-blossom  colored  coat,  and  a  dark  wig,  which  tied  behind, 
and,  I  believe,  a  bag  to  it,  which  was  the  fashion  of  that  day." — 
Wirfs  Life. 

XXIX. 

"  And  this  day,  at  ten  o'clock,  the  honorable  members  of  the  late 
House  of  Burgesses  met,  by  agreement,  at  the  long  room  in  the  Ral 
eigh  tavern,  in  this  city,  called  the  Apollo,  when  the  following  agree 
ment  was  unanimously  entered  into  by  that  patriotic  assembly." — 
Letter  from  Williamsburg,  27th  May,  1774,  in  Purviance's  "  Narra 
tive  of  Events  which  Occurred  in  Baltimore  town,  &c" 

"Yesterday,  between  three  and  four  o'clock,  p.  M.,  the  Right 
Honorable  the  Earl  of  Dunmore  sent  a  message  to  the  Honorable  the 
House  of  Burgesses,  by  the  clerk  of  the  council,  requiring  their  im 
mediate  attendance  in  the  council  chamber,  when  his  Excellency 
spoke  to  them  as  follows  :•-....  • 

"  This  evening  there  is  to  be  a  ball  and  entertainment  at  the  capi- 
tol,  given  by  the  Honorable  the  House  of  Burgesses,  to  welcome  Lady 
Dunmore,  and  the  rest  of  the  Governor's  family,  to  Virginia." —  Vir 
ginia  Gazette,  May  27th,  1774. 


500  HISTOEICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

XXX. 


,  6th,  April,  1776. 
.  .  .  "  I  conjure  you  as  you  value  the  liberties  and  rights  of  the 
community  of  which  you  are  a  member,  not  to  lose  a  moment,  and 
in  my  name,  if  my  name  is  of  consequence  enough,  to  direct  the  com 
manding  officer  of  your  troops  at  Annapolis,  immediately  to  seize  the 
person  of  Governor  Eden  ;  the  sin  and  blame  be  on  my  head.  I  will 
answer  for  all  to  the  Congress.  .  .  .  God  Almighty  give  us  wis 
dom  and  vigor  in  this  hour  of  trial. 

"  Dear  sir, 

"  Yours,  most  affectionately, 

"  CHARLES  LEE." 
—  Purviancds  Narrative. 

XXXI. 

"  Many  proofs  are  preserved  of  the  general  anxiety  of  the  other 
colonies  as  to  the  course  of  Virginia.  The  Maryland  committee 
'  flatter  themselves  with  great  hopes,  from  the  well-known  spirit  and 
zeal  of  the  gentlemen  of  this  province,  one  of  the  most  ancient,  ex 
tensive  and  prosperous  in  America,  and  hitherto  foremost  in  the  as 
sertion  of  American  rights.  .  .  .  Much  depends  upon  the  deter 
mination  of  Virginia,  which  we  shall  anxiously  expect.'  The  men 
of  Boston  write  to  the  Marylanders  :  '  The  accounts  you  give  us  of 
the  spirit  and  magnanimity  of  the  people  of  Virginia,  confirm  us  in 
the  opinion  we  have  ever  had  of  that  ancient  colony,  of  whose  dis 
interested  virtue  this  province  has  had  ample  experience.'  "  —  Pur- 
viancds  Narrative. 

XXXH. 

"  Yesterday  being  the  Day  set  apart  by  the  Members  of  the  late 
House  of  Burgesses,  as  a  Day  of  Fasting,  Humiliation,  and  Prayer, 
devoutly  to  implore  the  Divine  Interposition  for  averting  the  heavy 
Calamity  which  threatens  Destruction  to  the  civil  Eights  of  America, 
the  same  was  accordingly  observed  by  the  Inhabitants  of  this  Place, 
who  repaired  to  Church  and  heard  an  excellent  Sermon  preached  by 
the  Reverend  James  Marye,  from  Psalm  xii.,  Verse  iii.  —  Help,  Lord, 
for  the  godly  Man  ceaseth,  for  the  Faithful  fail  from  among  the  Chil 
dren  of  Men.  —  The  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  read  Prayers."  —  Virginia 
Gazette,  June  2d,  1774. 


HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS.  501 

LETTER  FROM   FREDERICKSBtTRG. 

"  Enclosed  you  have  the  Boston  Trade  Act,  and  a  resolve  of  our 
House  of  Burgesses.  You  will  observe  that  it  is  confined  to  the  mem 
bers  of  their  own  House,  but  they  would  wish  to  see  the  example 
followed  through  the  country,  for  which  purpose  the  members,  at 
their  own  private  expense,  are  sending  expresses,  with  the  resolve, 
to  their  respective  counties.  Mr.  Massie  (the  minister  of  Fairfax), 
will  receive  a  copy  of  the  resolve  from  Colonel  Washington,  and 
should  a  day  of  prayer  and  fasting  be  appointed  in  our  county,  please 
to  tell  my  dear  little  family  that  I  charge  them  to  pay  a  strict  atten 
tion  to  it,  and  that  I  desire  my  three  eldest  sons  and  my  two  oldest 
daughters  may  attend  church  in  mourning,  if  they  have  it,  as  I  believe 
they  have." — George  Mason  to  Martin  Cockburn,  May  26,  1774. 


XXXIII. 

.  .  .  "  I  do  not  know  of  any  of  the  chiefs  besides  the  Cornstalk, 
but  the  Blue  Jacket,  a  Shawnee  chief,  who  was  known  to  be  at  the 
Governor's  camp,  on  the  9th  of  October,  and  in  the  battle  on  the  10th. 
On  the  day  of  battle,  Dunmore  and  a  Captain  O'Connolly  (Conolly), 
were  walking  together,  afterwards  a  noted  tory.  The  Governor  ob 
served  to  him  that  Lewis  had  hot  work  about  that  time  of  day.  He 
evidently  intended  General  Lewis'  army  to  be  cut  off,  and  if  you 
could  see  Colonel  Stewart's  narrative,  it  would  convince  you  and 
every  other  man  that  the  battle  at  Point  Pleasant  was  the  first  blood 
shed  in  the  revolutionary  war." — Letter  from  Colonel  Lewis,  son  of 
the  General,  in  Campbell's  History  of  Virginia. 

The  proof  of  Major  Conolly's  collusion  with  Dunmore,  and  then- 
treachery,  crowds  the  records  of  the  war  of  '74.  See  Jacob's  Account, 
and  many  others. 

XXXIV. 

"  Whatever  resolves  or  measures  are  intended  for  the  preservation 
of  our  rights  and  liberties,  will  be  reserved  for  the  conclusion  of  the 
session.  Matters  of  that  sort  here  are  conducted  and  prepared  with 
a  great  deal  of  privacy,  and  by  very  few  members,  of  whom  Patrick 
Henry  is  the  principal." — George  Mason  to  Martin  Cocklurn,  of  Fair 
fax,  Williamsburff,  May  26th,  1774. 


502  HISTORICAL    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

XXXV. 

"  This  elaborate  production  displays  a  profound  knowledge  of  the 
history  and  constitutional  rights  of  the  colony.  It  breathes  a  fiery 
spirit  of  defiance  and  revolution ;  and  the  splendor  of  elevated  decla 
mation,  in  some  of  its  passages,  is  not  inferior  to  Junius.  .  .  . 
Owing  to  the  authorship  of  it,  Lord  Dunmore,  it  is  said,  threatened 
Mr.  Jefferson  with  a  prosecution  for  treason,  and  his  name  was  en 
rolled  in  a  bill  of  attainder,  commenced  in  one  of  the  Houses  of  Par 
liament,  but  never  consummated.  Among  the  proscribed  were  Pey 
ton  Randolph,  John  Adams,  Samuel  Adams,  John  Hancock  and  Pat 
rick  Henry." —  CampbelCs  Virginia,  page  148. 


XXXVI. 

"  General  Lewis,  upon  learning  the  enemy's  approach,  lit  his  pipe, 
and  immediately  sent  forward  the  main  body  of  his  army,  a  detach 
ment  of  Augusta  troops,  under  his  brother,  Colonel  Charles  Lewis, 
and  another  of  Botetourt  troops  under  Colonel  Fleming." —  CampbeWs 
History  of  Virginia,  page  143. 


xxxvn. 

"  This  gallant  and  estimable  officer,  when  struck  by  the  fatal  ball, 
fell  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  when  he  was,  against  his  own  wish,  carried 
to  his  tent,  by  Captain  Morrow  and  a  private,  and  died  in  a  few 
hours.  His  lost  was  deeply  lamented." — Campbelfs  Virginia,  page 
143. 


XXXVIII. 

"  Patrick  Henry  desired,"  says  Mr.  "Wirt,  in  his  Life,  "  that  the 
blow  which  must  be  struck,  sooner  or  later,  should  be  struck  at  once. 
These  sentiments  were  then  avowed  by  him  to  two  confidential 
friends  (Colonel  Richard  Morris,  and  Captain  John  Dabney),  to 
whom  he  further  declared  that  he  considered  the  outrage  on  the 
magazine  a  most  fortunate  circumstance,  and  as  one  which  would 
rouse  the  people  from  north  to  south." 


HISTORICAL    ILLUSTKA.TIOXS.  503 

XXXIX. 

"  When  the  British  were  about  landing  on  James  river,  and  York- 
town  was  peculiarly  exposed,  General  Nelson,  then  in  arms  against 
them,  was  obliged  to  send  Mrs.  Nelson,  with  an  infant  three  weeks 
old,  to  the  upper  country.  When  near  Williamsburg,  she  met  a  com 
pany  of  youths,  some  of  them  mere  boys,  armed  with  their  guns,  and 
marching  down  to  fire  at  the  enemy.  On  meeting  the  well-known 
old  English  coach,  they  halted  and  presented  arms  to  Mrs.  Nelson, 
wishing  to  show  her  all  honor.  She  received  their  salutation  very 
courteously,  but  perceiving  among  them  two  of  her  own  sons,  mere 
boys  at  the  preparatory  school,  she  directed  the  coachman  to  stop, 
and,  opening  the  door,  requested  them  to  enter  the  carriage.  Morti 
fying  as  it  must  have  been  to  them,  they  were  too  much  accustomed 
to  obey  to  think  of  refusing.  Taking  them  with  her,  she  sent  them 
to  Philadelphia,  to  complete  their  education,  placing  them  under  the 
care  of  Mr.  Eittenhouse." — Bishop  Meade's  "  Old  Churches  of  Vir 
ginia." 

XL. 

"  Colonel  Carter  Braxton  was  chiefly  instrumental  in  persuading 
Henry  to  halt  at  Doncastle's,  and  in  negotiating  the  settlement  of  the 
affair.  .  .  .  Finding  that  Henry  would  not  disband  without  re 
ceiving  the  powder,  or  compensation  for  it,  Mr.  Braxton  returned  to 
Williamsburg  and  procured  from  his  father-in-law,  Corbin,  the 
deputy  receiver-general,  the  amount  demanded,  and  delivering  it  to 
Henry,  succeeded  in  warding  off  the  threatened  blow.  In  this  pa 
cific  course  he  coincided  with  the  moderate  counsels  of  Pendleton, 
Nicholas,  and  Peyton  Randolph.  He  was  an  active  member  of  the 
Assembly  and  the  convention  that  met  in  Richmond,  .  .  .  one 
of  the  Committee  of  Safety,  .  .  .  elected  a  delegate  to  Congress 
in  the  place  of  Peyton  Randolph,  .  .  .  and  was  a  signer  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence." — Campbells  Virginia, 


University  of  California 
SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

ReturnUhis  material  to  the  library 
W**  ^rbm  which  it  was  borrowed. 


